


Loyalties and Trust

by b3cc8



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dothraki, Drogon - Freeform, Episode: s07e04 The Spoils of War, F/M, Fix-It, Lannister Army, Loot Train Attack, POV Jaime Lannister, The Unsullied (A Song of Ice and Fire), dragonpit, rhaegal - Freeform, season 7, viserion - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:08:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29384643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b3cc8/pseuds/b3cc8
Summary: Daenerys is victorious over the Lannister army on the Goldroad. Jaime and Bronn are amongst the captured survivors brought before her for justice. A brother seeks forgiveness and Queens clash.
Comments: 39
Kudos: 36





	1. Burn Them All

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this is in my head for a long time. If Daenerys and Jaime had more interaction after the Loot Train Attack. Also, they really should have had a conversation in season 8. Really should have. This is Jaime's recurring nightmare. Innocent people dead at the hands of a Targaryen.  
> This is a still loyal to Cersei Jaime's perspective. 
> 
> Please let me know if you'd like me to write more in this fic and what you think of this.  
> Becca x

He isn’t sure if he is dying or delirious, but he feels strong arms lifting him from the water. The water which has made its way down his throat and filled his insides. As he is brought closer to the surface, he sees the strands of silver hair gently blowing in the breeze, and the great hulking mound behind her.  
He is deposited onto dry land. He turns over, shakily getting up on his hands and knees and expels whatever water managed to find its way into his system. His head pounds and his throat is dry. His lungs burn with exertion. He turns over and firmly presses his back against the solid ground. Breathing is a struggle.

In.  
Out.  
In.  
Out.

He feels like he’s been there forever. Through bloodshot eyes, all he can see are billowing turrets of smoke. Fierce orange flames stretch across the land as far as the eye can see. He breathes.

In.  
Out.  
In.  
Out.

Why is breathing hard?  
He turns his head to the right to see the outline of another man spluttering and coughing and trying to stay alive just like himself. To his left, the silver hair sits atop a head. And the mound. The mound is moving.

In.  
Out.  
In.  
Out.

He sees the silver haired girl’s mouth moving but can’t make out what she says due to his water clogged ears. Next thing he knows there are heavy hands lifting him to his feet. He tries to walk, but his legs feel like lead.  
And then the exhaustion hits him. He’s so tired. All he wants to do is lie down and close his eyes, but that is impossible. There are people shouting and manipulating his body so that one foot moves in front of the other.

In.  
Out.  
In.  
Out.

Someone is speaking to him. talking in his ear. He thinks he hears the words ‘stupid idiot’ but he can’t be sure. He would rub his eyes to clear his vision, but he can’t move his arms. They are pinned behind his back. He can see the outlines of tall, dark men on either side of him. They must be what is in control of his body because it certainly isn’t him. He blinks rapidly and shakes his head from side to side, and surprisingly, that helps. He stretches his mouth and closes it. Stretches it and closes it, and finally his ears pop and sound returns.

He doesn’t like what he hears.

Screams.  
Cries.  
Roars.

In.  
Out.  
In.  
Out.

Slowly, it all returns. The battle. The men dying horrifically. The flames taking the life of many a fine soldier. The feeling of helplessness as he watches his men die around him. The memories of another time in his life that he would rather forget.  
_____________________________________________________________________

He is now in a clearing. Green grass and trees. A stark contrast from where he was not five minutes ago. He stands next to Bronn, who looks as exhausted as he feels. His companion is leaning heavily on the two Dothraki attempting to hold him upright. Ah. So that must be who has a grip of him then.  
They aren’t the only ones in this clearing. To his left there is a crowd of bruised and battered soldiers and though they are head to toe in ash and mud, they are clearly dressed in crimson, gold and black. Lannister soldiers. His soldiers. Some crying, some with half burnt faces, some gazing in complete fear at…  
His eyes turn to the rock in front of him. There stands the silver haired girl. The same silver hair that haunts his dreams all these years later.  
The mass that he thought of as a mound before is now revealed to him as a living, breathing creature. The same living, breathing creature that almost cost him his life mere minutes ago. Had it not been for Bronn…  
He glances at his companion. He’s trying to be strong for the sake of appearances, but he can clearly see the pain etched on the sellsword’s face. A patch of the upper arm of his leather jerkin has been burned away leaving the skin underneath red and raw. He hopes Bronn will be provided with decent medical aid, though, if they’re about to die, then there’s surely no need. The dragon rears his head and looks him directly in the eye. Red eyes latch onto green. Beside the girl to her right is…  
Tyrion?  
What is he doing here?  
Tyrion looks to him, the fear evident in his eyes. his brother could have seen him die and he would have been none the wiser. His breath hitches in his throat.

In.  
Out.  
In.  
Out.

Tyrion stands beside his queen, his silver badge catching the sunlight and gleaming. A badge which looks eerily similar to the one currently worn by Qyburn, if not for the wrong colour. He smiles. He heard of his brother’s fortune, but to see him stand there, he feels a twinge of pride. No matter how dire the situation, family comes first. Tyrion has done well for himself, and he is pleased.  
His focus shifts back to the Targaryen girl who steps forward to address her assembled prisoners.  
“I know what Cersei has told you. That I’ve come to destroy your cities.”  
He scoffs bitterly. If this display is anything to go by, then sister made the right assessment. He’s already put an end to one mad Targaryen ruler and now there has come another. He is truly fearful for his men.  
“Burn down your homes. Murder you and orphan your children.”  
Many of the dead men burnt to ash in that field will have children. Who will provide for them, now that their fathers cannot? The Targaryen girl is a hypocrite. That is exactly what she has done.  
“That’s Cersei Lannister, not me.”  
He does not dispute that Cersei has committed unspeakable acts of violence, but they were for family. Always for family. This girl has no family. She does it for vanity.  
“I’m not here to murder.”  
He disagrees.  
“And all I want to destroy is the wheel that has rolled over rich and poor to the benefit of no-one but the Cersei Lannisters of the world. I offer you a choice. Bend the knee and join me. Together, we will leave the world a better place than we found it. Or refuse and die.” He looks to the sea of men she speaks to. He is their commander, and an influential Lannister, but he is also human. He knows she does not speak to him. She will deal with him separately.  
But if he were one of these men who had seen friends and countrymen slaughtered, who had been threatened with dragon fire, who saw one of their own standing next to the Targaryen girl, then he isn’t sure what he would do. He isn’t a vindictive person. Not anymore. If his men want to kneel, then he isn’t going to bear them any grievance.  
When Daenerys utters the last four words, through his peripheral vision, he sees his brother shudder. Tyrion is one who does not deal in empty threats. If it affects him such, then the girl is serious.  
He doesn’t want more of his men to die. The fatality count will already be astronomical. Why execute prisoners when they are already under your command? Why waste more lives? He prays his men do bend to save them a worthless death. These are all brave men. They deserve better.  
A few take a knee instantly. A lot look to him for guidance. The Targaryen girl’s eyes follow the soldier’s line of sight and lock onto his. He remains impassive. He will not give her the benefit of a reaction. She looks away and he gives the slightest nod to the soldiers standing in the clearing. That nod tells them there will be no punishment for this. Escaping death by fire is punishment enough.  
Many resolute soldiers stay standing. In amongst them are his general Randyll Tarly and his son Dickon. His heart beat increases. This is so precarious.

In.  
Out.  
In.  
Out.

The dragon rears its ugly head and roars ferociously as a final act of warning. If you don’t kneel now, you’re dead. Both Randyll and Dickon remain standing, along with a few other brave fools.  
“Kneel, you idiots. Don’t die for nothing,” he whispers to himself.  
He has to save the lives of his men. They fought for him and lived. His Dothraki guards have only had a loose hold on him. He’s remained still and so they have too. He forces his elbows downwards, breaking their grip on him. He sprints up to the rock. The dragon greets him with a snarl.  
“You can have me!” He shouts. “You can kill me. I give myself in exchange for their lives.” His brother’s eyes widen.  
“Jaime,” Tyrion hisses. “Don’t be a fool.” His Dothraki guards have caught up to him and wrench his arms behind his back. They begin to drag him to where he stood before.  
“I killed your father! I stabbed him in the back and sat on the throne as his life slipped away in front of me. Kill me and spare them.” Anger flashes in her eyes, but she doesn’t speak. What kind of an idiot is she to refuse an offer such as this? He is made to stand beside Bronn again who looks at him with both anger and sadness in his eyes.  
“Suicidal dolt,” he mutters. Tyrion is looking at his queen with a pleading expression, hoping she doesn’t take him up on his offer. She seems unaffected by it and carries on as if the interruption never happened in the first place.  
The Dothraki have grips of iron and he is rooted to the ground like stone. One warns him that if he speaks again, he’ll run him through with his arakh. That is an empty threat. He is much too valuable to the dragon queen.  
The Targaryen’s glare turns to his general and a lump forms in his throat. This man is loyal, and his loyalty will cost him his life.  
“Step forward, my Lord,” Daenerys commands. His eyes follow Randyll as he obeys. “You will not kneel?” The Lord of Hornhill shakes his head slightly.  
“I already have a queen,” he states.  
“My sister?” Tyrion questions. “She wasn’t your queen until recently though, was she?”  
No, and took some doing to convince Randyll Tarly to break his allegiance to Olenna Tyrell. Tyrion continues.  
“When she murdered your rightful queen and destroyed House Tyrell for all time.” Tyrion’s eyes slide to his brother. They both know who murdered her. “So, it appears your allegiances are somewhat flexible.”  
“There are no easy choices in war,” Randyll states. That is true enough. “Say what you will about your sister, she was born in Westeros. She’s lived here all her life.”  
And that, he thinks, may be the key reason that people will remain loyal to Cersei. She is known.  
“You on the other hand,” Tarly continues, locking eyes with Tyrion. “Murdered your own father.” He feels a twinge. Hurt. He loves Tyrion, but he killed his kin. He hasn’t completely forgiven his brother for that. “And chose to support a foreign invader. One with no ties to this land. An army of savages at her back.”  
He would be inclined to agree. The Dothraki are fierce and skilled. Robert Baratheon always feared the day they would land on Westerosi shores. He now understands why. They are like no army he’s ever faced.  
“You will not trade your honour for your life?” Daenerys asks. Randyll shakes his head in agreement. He is about to lose his trusted general. Another disadvantage awarded his side in the war to come. “I respect that.”  
To his surprise, his brother openly disagrees with his queen. He is shocked. Tyrion is playing a dangerous game. Daenerys Targaryen doesn’t look like someone who likes having her orders disobeyed.  
“Perhaps he could take the black, Your Grace?” Tyrion asks the silver-haired girl. “Whatever else he is, he is a true soldier. He would be invaluable at the Wall.” He agrees with his brother. But Randyll Tarly is not one to admit defeat and disregards Tyrion’s suggestion completely.  
“You cannot send me to the Wall. You are not my queen.” He bows his head. There will be no more second chances, no more reprieves. Randyll Tarly is about to die.  
Daenerys has her Dothraki escort the Lord to an empty spot in the clearing. He sees Dickon Tarly looking between his father and the dragon.  
“Idiot,” he groans. “Don’t do it.” But he does. He steps away from the crowd and addresses the Targaryen girl.  
“You will have to kill me too.” Randyll rounds on his son, breaking his grip of the Dothraki surrounding him.  
“Step back and shut your mouth!” He snarls.  
He nods. Hopefully the boy will listen to his father.  
“Who are you?” Daenerys asks him.  
“A stupid boy,” Randyll answers before his son can speak.  
“I am Dickon Tarly,” he says regardless. “Son of Randyll Tarly.”  
He shakes his head. Brave idiot. Tyrion says what he is thinking. All of them are willing this boy not to be so stupid. All who are not the girl with a dragon at her command.  
“You are the future of your house,” Tyrion states. “This war has already wiped one great house from the world. Don’t let it happen again. Bend the knee.”  
He nods along. Do it. Don’t be a fool.  
Dickon looks to Randyll who agrees with the younger Lannister brother.  
“I will not.”  
His eyes snap up. Randyll looks disappointed and disgusted at the same time. Tyrion turns to his queen, to beg for mercy. He can’t hear what is said between queen and Hand, but Daenerys doesn’t seem impressed. He drops his head in defeat. Another Tarly is going to be executed.  
He sees his brother falter. His eyes widen. Then he turns to the dragon.  
Oh.  
That’s how they’re going to die.  
This is all too familiar. Another Targaryen, another setting.  
Burning. Burning. Burning.  
Burn them all.

In.  
Out.  
In.  
Out.

Breathe. Don’t stop breathing.

Go away inside.

But he can’t.

Unlike Aerys, he has a responsibility to the people dying. These are his men. He will show them the decency of being present when they die. He forces himself to look up to the rock where he sees Tyrion deflated. Defeated. Daenerys turns from her Hand.

Targaryens.  
They’re all mad.  
Burning.  
Burn them all.

In.  
Out.  
In.  
Out.

Aerys.  
Daenerys.  
Burn them all.

In.  
Out.  
In.  
Out.

Dothraki grab father and son and force them to the side. Their time has come. Tyrion has lost and Daenerys won’t relent. He has failed.  
Randyll grabs Dickon’s hand. A moment in comfort before they are taken from the world.  
He doesn’t let his eyes glaze over. He owes them this. Even Bronn has his head bent. Daenerys pronounces judgement.  
“Lord Randyll Tarly. Dickon Tarly. I, Daenerys of House Targaryen, First of my Name, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons, sentence you to die.”  
Tears form in his eyes and he lets them slide down his cheeks. He doesn’t care if his Dothraki guards laugh at him. It has happened again. He has let it happen again.  
Worthless deaths of brave, foolish men.  
Burn them all.  
Tyrion looks away.  
He doesn’t.  
“Dracarys.”  
The dragon opens its mouth and within seconds, the Tarly men are engulfed in flame.

Flame.  
Dragon fire.  
Wildfire.  
Burn them all.

In.  
Out.  
In.  
Out.

Soon, the two men are nothing but ash.  
Tyrion looks at him. He’s conflicted. Disgusted. He has shed his own tears. These are Westerosi men. Men who fought for his family. It was bound to affect him.  
In an instant, the rest of the remaining army has taken a knee out of fear.  
He is thankful.  
That spares him another burning. More of his men lost to this game.  
The tears dry. As he looks into the violet eyes of the dragon queen, all he can see are those of her father staring back at him.  
Burn them all.  
Thankfully, she didn’t need to. And he’s grateful that she didn’t on a whim. Out of spite.  
Cersei will be angry, of course. At him, most likely. Her army was decimated, and he didn’t do anything to stop the survivors bending the knee to the foreign invader. But he’ll take the brunt of it knowing he saved hundreds of worthless deaths.  
If he ever gets to see her again. Daenerys has what remains of his army now. His top general is dead. Surely her sights will now turn to him.  
He sees Daenerys scan the crowd of soldiers with a look of satisfaction on her face. He recoils in disgust. These men didn’t choose to become a part of her army. They were forced. Not exactly the actions of the just ruler she claims to be.  
He is pushed forward by the men holding him. The time has come to face the daughter of the king he murdered.

In.  
Out.  
In.  
Out.

He is relieved to see that Bronn is being brought before her at the same time. When they are stood before the rock, he can smell the burned bodies of Randyll and Dickon. A smell he is all  
too familiar with. He retches onto the grass he stands on. He never thought he would have to endure that again. He sees Tyrion looking at him with worried eyes. He nods, letting his brother know he is alright.  
“That was very brave.” The Targaryen girl is speaking to him. “Your little outburst there.” He glances at her.  
“These men are my responsibility. It is my duty to cause the minimal number of deaths possible.”  
“Thankfully, only two had to die.”  
“They didn’t have to. You could have shown them mercy.”  
“They made their choice,” she snaps back. She looks him up and down, her eyes lingering on the golden hand still attached to his right wrist. “Jaime Lannister. I wondered when I would finally meet you. I have heard a lot about you.”  
“And I, you,” he says coolly. He’ll play her game.  
“Your brother speaks highly of you,” she continues. He looks at Tyrion who smiles sadly. He knows their next conversation will be a tense one. If they are allowed to have it. He doesn’t have an answer for her. So, she changes the subject. “You charged me and my dragon.” She has the audacity to look offended and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to quell the laughter bubbling in his throat. However, in a matter of moments, that laughter turns to anger.  
“What did you expect me to do? You were massacring my men! I had to put a stop to it.”  
“And be a bloody idiot in the process,” Tyrion murmurs, just loud enough for him to hear.  
“And you,” the girl’s eyes slide to his companion. Bronn is clearly in pain, but alert enough to answer her stare. “You shot him.”  
“Necessity,” Bronn replies simply.  
“I should have you both burned alive,” she states, no emotion in her voice. Tyrion is startled.  
“Your Grace, please. Both these men would be useful in the upcoming war. Bronn is a skilled fighter.”  
“And your brother? He has one hand. The wrong hand.”  
“Jaime’s skill as a tactician is invaluable. He proved that by attacking Highgarden and leaving Casterly Rock undefended.”  
“Yes, that. Olenna Tyrell is dead, I presume?”  
“She is.”  
“She was a valuable ally. Why shouldn’t I seek retribution for her death?”  
“And why shouldn’t I, for all these deaths today?” He retorts, voice laced with venom.  
“They were casualties of war,” she replies.  
“As was Olenna Tyrell.”  
They are at an impasse. Tyrion looks between his brother and his queen. He knows they are both impulsive. One could provoke the other into doing something stupid very easily. Daenerys looks to Bronn.  
“Why are you loyal to this man?” She asks him.  
“I’m a sellsword. I fight for a man and then I am paid. He owes me.”  
“What does he owe you?” Tyrion asks.  
“A castle and a lordship and a highborn beauty for a wife.”  
“That is an insurmountable debt, Ser,” Daenerys states.  
“Do you remember the deal we made?” Tyrion asks.  
“Whatever they’re paying me, you’ll pay double.” Tyrion agrees.  
“If you were to bend the knee to Queen Daenerys, you will receive all that you are owed, and more. You have my word.”  
“I am loyal to no king or queen,” Bronn retorts. “I will not bend the knee. However, as you say my skills are useful, and if you were to give me proof that you will hold up your end of the deal, then you have one.”  
“Very well, Ser,” Daenerys says. “You will return with us to Dragonstone. You and Lord Tyrion can strike a deal there.” Bronn looks relieved that he won’t be engulfed in flames.  
He knows Bronn’s loyalty would not last forever. Bronn follows the gold, and the gold has taken him to the dragon queen. Cersei would have his head, but he doesn’t feel he can. Bronn has been a friend to him. He isn’t in a position to much about it as it is.  
He feels the silver haired girl’s gaze on him again and knows another battle for his life is about to begin.

In.  
Out.  
In.  
Out.

“You murdered my father.”  
He wondered when they would approach the subject of Aerys Targaryen. This is where he must proceed very, very cautiously.

In.  
Out.  
In.  
Out.

“I did.”  
“You confessed it to me not twenty minutes ago.”  
“I did.”  
“Then, why shouldn't I execute you for it, here and now?” He told one person the story. Brienne is the only person to know the whole truth. Tyrion knows bits, and the rest of the world know Ned Stark’s account. And they believe it.  
“Because it was justified,” he responds.  
“How so? You were his Kingsguard. You were sworn to protect him, and you stabbed him in the back!” He’s had enough. He snaps.  
“It was either your father or half a million innocent civilians! What would you have done?” She frowns and takes a step back.  
“What?” She falters.  
He bows his head and sighs.  
“I will agree to recount the story. But this is not the place to do so.” He twists his head round to see the bruised and battered men too tired to listen in on their conversation. He turns back and is glad to see that Tyrion has noticed his direction.  
“Jaime is right, Your Grace. These men have fought and lost. They need to rest. Recuperate. Standing here with the bodies of their fallen brothers behind them is not the place to have such an intimate conversation. I’m sure Jaime would appreciate not having the audience also.” Daenerys looks between him and his brother, deciding what her verdict will be.  
“Fine. You will also accompany us to Dragonstone. You will travel under guard. We will talk on shore.” He nods. Daenerys climbs on the back of her beast and flies away.  
He slumps with exhaustion and relief. He feels a hand on his arm and sees his brother standing next to him.  
“Thank the Gods you still have a head,” Tyrion says.  
“For a minute there, I thought she would strike it from my shoulders,” he agrees.  
The train of defeated Lannister soldiers is ordered to move. He, Tyrion, Bronn, and his guards are at the front of the queue.  
“The quicker we get to Dragonstone, the sooner we find out your fate, brother.” Nothing has been decided. Daenerys may decide to kill him even after all of this.

In.  
Out.  
In.  
Out.

They continue their march, towards Dragonstone, and towards his fate.


	2. Seeking Forgiveness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime is on Dragonstone. The brothers have a conversation.

The journey was long and arduous. He hadn’t been afforded time to rest and it took a toll on his body. A hard march, then he had been shoved onto a skiff so they could make it to the island.

His armour is long gone. Taken from him before boarding the skiff. He’s been left in his leather jerkin and they are entering into winter. He is cold, as well as sore. He has, however, been allowed to remain in possession of his golden hand. Small mercies.

Finally, they land. Whatever breaks they had taken had been short. He had been cramped in the skiff with Bronn and his Dothraki guards for the better part of a day with no room to manoeuvre his exhausted limbs.

When they come ashore and he is given the chance to stretch his legs, it comes as a relief. He had heard of the white, sandy beaches of Dragonstone, of course. It was the ancestral seat of the Targaryens. How could he not have? But here he is, seeing it in person for the first time.

There are two large, iron gates that are pushed open by four, strong Dothraki. His eyes dance as he takes in the structure in front of him. He must admit that it isn’t particularly beautiful, but it is something to be held in awe. If he didn’t have his arms bound then he may have even been excited at the prospect.

His battered body now has to endure the climb in order to reach Dragonstone itself. In front of him is a long, winding, stone path that leads to the castle. He can see that Bronn bears a look of pain on his face. His companion’s burns haven’t been treated and he had his arms pulled behind his back. It wouldn’t be at all comfortable for the sellsword. He’s afraid that if they are left untreated then infection will set in and Bronn will die anyway, despite having to endure what he did. He will speak to Tyrion and attempt to get his friend the help he needs.

Speak to Tyrion. A prospect which both angers and scares him. Cersei had been in the right. By firing two bolts into his father, Tyrion had left his family wide open for assault, and their enemies had aimed, fired, and scored. Myrcella was dead. Tommen was dead. He had failed them.

And now he is the prisoner of the person who likely hated him more than all his other enemies combined. The idea that he will survive this interchange is laughable. There is no way in any of the seven hells that his head will remain attached to his neck.

But he doesn’t fear death. It was going to catch up with him eventually. He had been narrowly escaping it for a long time now.

He looks over to Bronn to see the other grimace at the thought of another long climb. He has to concur. His aching bones will not thank him for this. One of his guards prod him in the back and so begins the ascent.

He focuses on putting one foot in front of the other. Breathing steadily. If he slows, a nudge from the Dothraki breathing down his neck is enough to set him on course again.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Before he knew it, he reaches the summit. The sun is a bug, burning ball in the sky and the rays shine right into his eyes.

He hears a screech.

He freezes.

That is a screech associated with people dying. That is a screech associated with fire. With fear. With blood. He squints and vaguely sees six flapping wings.

There are the two dragons that had been omitted from flying to the attack. And with them is the one he had faced on the battlefield.

He shudders.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

He prays the beasts don’t come any closer to him. One encounter with the dragons is enough to last him a lifetime. Bronn doesn’t look particularly pleased to see them either. It looks as though the shot from the scorpion hadn’t caused the dragon too much harm. It’s flying and looks to be in no pain.

“Move!” One of the Dothraki barks, shoving him painfully in the shoulder. He continues to walk.

Soon enough they reach the vast expanse that is the castle of Dragonstone. It consists of square sloping roofs and is constructed from grey stone. He is led through the entrance and stopped outside another huge set of doors. They creak and whine with the effort it takes to prise them apart.

He glances behind him to see a crumpled woven banner. A white background. A stag on a red heart with flames encasing the heart. The sigil that once belonged to Stannis Baratheon. He’s dead now. Brienne had killed him beyond the wall. He had been told the story and his heart had lifted with pride. She wanted revenge for Renly’s death, and she was given the opportunity to take it.

She took it.

He wishes she could stand beside him. She would keep him in check. Tell him to shut his mouth when he became reckless with his words. For now, he would have to rely on himself.

He is pushed through the doors and brought into a dark hall. Some lanterns or candles wouldn’t go amiss, he thought. In front of him is a throne, made from dark stone. Daenerys sits on it, looking at her prisoner with cold, calculated eyes. Her silver hair and violet eyes are a stark contrast from the gloominess that encapsulates the hall. The steel chain she wears shines brightly. A beacon in the ever-present darkness.

He has to bite back a laugh at that thought. No doubt that was what the Targaryen girl thought of herself as. Whether he agreed remained to be seen.

Tyrion stands to her right. He is not all that surprised to see Varys to his left. It was he who transported his brother across the Narrow Sea, after all. He swallows a lump in his throat as he looks towards the dragon queen.

“Ser Bronn,” she addresses the sellsword first. “You may reside in guest chambers until Lord Tyrion sees fit to make a deal. Do not leave them without an escort. Take him there now please.” Bronn’s arms are freed, and he is shown from the hall. Then her eyes lock on his.

“Glad to see you made it here alive,” she says. “I trust my men looked after you well enough?”

“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it,” he replies dryly.

“Good. You and I will converse in a few days’ time. Until then, please escort Ser Jaime to a cell.”

“Your Grace!” Tyrion calls out. “If you have no need of me, then I shall accompany them. Jaime and I have some issues of our own we must discuss.”

“As you wish,” she replies. He is escorted from the hall, through hallways and passages, down staircases, until they reach the unmistakeable sight of a dungeon. Stone walls and iron bars are to be his only companions over the coming days. The only upside to this dingy place is that flaming torches adorn the walls. He is thankful he would be afforded some light, unlike the poor souls tossed into the Black Cells under the Red Keep. It is known that a man can be driven to madness in the darkness.

His arms are unbound. He stretches and rolls them, attempting to restore feeling to them. The gaelor, a fat, old man with greying hair and yellowing teeth, leers at him as he is shoved into a cell by the Dothraki. Tyrion also enters the small space before Daenerys’ soldiers lock the door behind them. They leave, and the gaelor takes up residence in a seat resting against the opposite wall, leaving the brothers to talk in peace.

His heart hammers in his chest. This is a conversation he knew has been coming since he had been fished out the water, and yet, he isn’t prepared for it in the slightest. At least Tyrion has the decency to look guilty. His brother fiddles with a loose thread on his jacket. There is a long silence as neither he nor his brother want to start this discussion.

He walks over to the back wall and slides down it, resting his chin on his knees. He taps his feet impatiently, trying to think of the words which will describe how he is feeling. Tyrion sat against the gate; eyes solely fixated on the thread he was passing between his fingers.

“I’m sorry,” his brother finally says.

“What was that?” He responds. He hears an irritated sigh from the opposite side of the cell.

“I said I’m sorry!” Comes a louder voice.

“Sorry for tearing our family apart or sorry for betraying me in the worst possible way? All you had to do was leave,” he snaps, raising his eyes to look at the younger man. Tyrion hasn’t returned his gaze. “I risked my own neck to save yours and that was how you repaid me? By killing our father?”

“What made you think I had the choice? Jaime, you have to understand.” Finally, he is greeted with another set of eyes on his. “I didn’t set out to kill him. I had to know. I had to know why he was so content with having me put to death for something I didn’t do. Then I saw Shae, lying in his bed. She called out for her lion. A name that was only ever reserved for me. Our father. A man who despised whores, took one, _my_ one, to his bed. Do you not see how hypocritical that is?” He shrugs.

“I suppose.”

“I was so angry, Jaime. Hurt. Betrayed. I saw red. I strangled her. I killed her. I _loved_ her.” He hears the thickness in Tyrion’s voice. He knew his brother was trying not to cry.

“The things we do for love,” he mutters.

“What was that?” Tyrion enquires. He shakes his head.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“I took the crossbow, Joffrey’s crossbow, and went to seek him out. I found him, taking a shit. I don’t think he was all that surprised that I was free. He assumed it was you straight away. He knew no-one else would have reason to release me.” He sniffs. His father. Astute as ever. “When I questioned him, he admitted that he wanted me dead since the day I was born.”

“He was angry. I’m sure he didn’t mean it.” Tyrion rounds on him, unbridled fury blazing through his eyes, augmented by the flickering candle light of the torches in the dungeons.

“Of course he meant it! When have you known father to be sly about anything?” He sighed. His brother had the right of it. He had never agreed with his father’s treatment of his younger sibling. “He may not have murdered me outright, but if I were to die he would not mourn. You wouldn’t understand.”

“I do.”

“No, you don’t! How could you? You’re Jaime, the Lion of Lannister. You killed your king and were allowed to remain in the next one’s guard. I don’t kill my king and I nearly lose my head! Do you think father fought for me the way he fought for you? Don’t be stupid, Jaime.”

He could understand where his brother was coming from. A lifetime of torment and pain would be enough to enrage any man.

“So, what caused you to fire the bolt? What was the trigger?” His brother laughs.

“As if that wasn’t enough? Shae. It all came down to Shae. I told him. I _warned_ him that if he called her a whore again, I would make good on my threat. Clearly, he didn’t heed my warning. Tell me Jaime. Were it Cersei in Shae’s position, what would you have done? Would you take it lying down? Would you not seek revenge?”

He looks into Tyrion’s eyes and sees nothing but raw honesty. A pleading, a hope that he would understand why. He doesn’t say anything and let his brother continue to speak.

“I fired one bolt into his chest. Then, as I looked into his eyes, he told me true. ‘You are no son of mine’, he said. There was no pretence. This was the plain truth. ‘I am your son,’ I replied. ’I have always been your son’. And I fired another shot.”

He feels sick to his stomach. He can’t imagine the torture Tyrion had endured throughout his life. His father had always been ruthless. He himself had been on the receiving end of his father’s viciousness. But not to the extent his brother had.

“So, tell me, Jaime,” Tyrion continues. “If it were you, what would you have done?” He could tell Tyrion that he would never consider committing such a heinous act of violence. But would that be the truth? Where would that get the brothers if either wanted a chance to make things right?

“I would have killed him too,” he admits. He heard his brother blow a huge sigh of relief. “I’m sorry, Tyrion, for everything you had to endure.”

“I’m supposed to be the one looking for your forgiveness,” Tyrion huffs in response.

“You have it.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

“Jaime, thank you. You cannot understand how that takes a huge weight off my shoulders.”

“I can imagine.”

“Were it Cersei, she wouldn’t even hear me out. My head would already be on a pike.” At the mention of Cersei, he dips his head. He feels his cheeks burning. He hears the shuffling of straw as his brother slides down the wall to sit next to him. He felt a hand on his one and looks to see worry evident in Tyrion’s expression. “Is it bad?” He asks.

He isn’t sure how to respond.

“Tommen’s dead, Tyrion. He flung himself from a window when he saw the burning sept. His queen. His uncle. His cousin. All dead. Cersei didn’t even entertain the possibility of talking about him. she was grieving. I understand. The last of her children, gone.”

“Jaime, who caused those deaths? Who was the catalyst?”

“You know very well.”

“Then why in the seven hells would you stay loyal to her? Why stand by her side after everything she’s done?”

“I have to. She has no-one else. If I leave her, then what remains?”

“She has no-one else because she murdered them. Using wildfire.” He leans his head back against the wall of the cell and sighs. “Her own son died, and she immediately crowned herself queen. Doesn’t that tell you something? Why are you loyal to her, Jaime?”

“Because I love her!” He sobs. He feels Tyrion rub his hand affectionately. His cheeks burn with shame. He can’t bring himself to look at his brother. He knew it was wrong, to stay by her side after everything she’d done. But he couldn’t leave her alone.

“I know. I know you do,” Tyrion says reassuringly.

“Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for Cersei. I joined the Kingsguard for her. I’ve been loyal. Through everything. If I’m being honest, Tyrion, I don’t know a life without her.”

“I know. Right now, we have other problems to concentrate on. Like you not losing your head.”

“That would be helpful.”

“The Queen won’t wait too long before sending for you. When you speak to her… Please don’t resort to quick wit and sarcasm. Tell it all and tell it true. It is the only way you’re getting through this alive.”

“I shall do my best.”

“I love you, brother. I need you here.”

“I love you too.” Tyrion stands up and pats his shoulder. He gives him a small, reassuring smile.

“I must go. It won’t be long, Jaime.” He calls out to the gaelor who waddles over and unlocks the gate. Tyrion slips out, offers him a last glance, and disappears. The door is locked again, and he is alone.

He leans his head back and closes his eyes. His brother doesn’t hate him. This is good. And he has forgiven him. Honestly, he had a while ago, but he needed to hear the words from Tyrion’s own lips.

The gaelor drops a skin of water and a thick slice of bread through the bars. He accepts it gratefully. The fact that he had made peace with his brother made the prospect of his inevitable death that whole lot easier to cope with. Had he left this world without a resolution with Tyrion, he would never die peacefully.

His days are filled with silence. He marks the passage of time by the bread and water brought to him twice a day. Five days have lapsed since he arrived on Dragonstone. Five days since he forgave his brother and he had not seen him since.

Tyrion is a busy man, he knows that. Being the Hand of the Queen is a tough job. He saw Ned Stark struggle with the pressure of his position as Robert’s Hand.

His father was Hand to three different kings. First there was Aerys. When he was named to the Kingsguard, Tywin had resigned from his post. He had been a prisoner for much of Joffrey’s reign, but had seen his father as Hand to Tommen. It had passed to his uncle Kevan. Qyburn now served as Hand to Cersei.

He has never understood their relationship. Qyburn had been brought after treating him when he was returned to King’s Landing by Roose Bolton’s men. He had somehow managed to find himself in a very high position within the court. Cersei seemed to trust him implicitly. It is odd.

“Ser Jaime,” comes a smooth, female voice. He is brought out from his musings and looks to see a young woman dressed in black, accompanied by two Unsullied soldiers. This is his first encounter with Daenerys’ second army. Their faces are covered by helms. They are stoic and sturdy. “I am Missandei. Unlock the cell,” she commands the gaelor. He does so and the two Unsullied haul him to his feet.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

He knows what’s coming.

“The Queen has requested your presence. Please, come with me.” The Unsullied march him forward.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

It is time to meet with Daenerys.


	3. A Conversation With the Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime meets Daenerys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Dany really should have had a conversation in Season 8 post trial. Like seriously.

The young woman, Missandei, leads him back the way he came. He hears the Unsullied soldiers follow the pattern of every footstep he makes. His heart beats faster than it ever has before. It feels as though it might explode through his chest.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

He tells himself to calm down. However, his own words fall on deaf ears. He furrows his brows in confusion when he is taken past the throne room.

He is brought into a cavern, with a beautiful view covering the expanse of the island. Stone carvings of dragon heads adorn the walls. If he was in any doubt this castle belonged to the Targaryens, that has been put to bed now.

There is a table in the middle of the room and on it is a carved map of Westeros. Both the Greyjoy marker and the Martell marker have been knocked over to signify their capture at the hands of Euron Greyjoy.

A vile man, he thinks. Alone in the Red Keep with Cersei. He had stated numerous times that the only reward he wanted was to sleep with the queen. His sister had always denied the kraken’s offers in the past, but now?

He was faithful to Cersei, but he knew she didn’t reciprocate. It never sat easy with him. She preached the fact that only the two of them mattered in the world. He used to believe she was sincere. Now he knows he was naïve.

Even through all this, he finds himself drawn to her. He feels ashamed about it. He killed his king because he planned to blow up the city. His sister used wildfire to wipe out her enemies and destroy the sept, and yet he remained loyal. He isn’t entirely sure he knows himself why he still stands by her side at this point.

She wouldn’t take Euron to her bed though, would she? Not that pathetic excuse for a man. He would have categorically fought against the prospect that she would in the past, but now, he wasn’t so sure.

Cersei took, and gave nothing in return.

He shakes the thought from his mind and concentrates on the reason that he is here. He looks up to see Daenerys leaning against a pillar, staring out at the scenery. He hears the cries of the dragons as they circle the sky.

He is surprised the silver-haired girl hasn’t reacted to his presence as of yet. Missandei seems to have the same thought process. She clears her throat softly.

“Your Grace? We have brought Ser Jaime to you.” As if in a daze, she turns to face him. Then her expression turns to stone.

“Thank you Missandei. You may leave.” She does, and the two Unsullied guards who accompanied them take up posts against the wall. “They will be staying.” He had surmised this. “Sit.” He looks down at the two chairs set up opposite one another. He takes one, and she the other.

She looks back out the window to see her dragons.

“They are beautiful, aren’t they?”

He bites back a sarcastic reply, heeding Tyrion’s words from their earlier conversation. The dragon queen won’t appreciate his humour. But the girl isn’t wrong. He must admit that there is something ethereal about the creatures.

“That is Drogon. There,” she continues, pointing out the biggest one. He grimaces. How could he forget?

“Yes they are beautiful,” he answers truthfully.

“You agree. And yet you sought to kill him.” Ah. That’s where this is leading.

“Not the dragon. You.” The Targaryen girl wants honesty. That is exactly what she will receive.

“Why?” He shrugs.

“To end the war.”

“For Cersei Lannister.”

“I fight for my queen. I am a soldier just as much as these two men behind me are. I chose my side of the war. I am willing to lay down my life to ensure the victory for my queen.”

“You proved that to me already. Offering yourself in place of your men.”

“Needs must.”

“You don’t strike me as the sort of man who values the lives of others over his own.” He sighs. He understands she is trying to provoke him, and he will not rise to it. She is not the first person to tell him such a thing. Ned Stark is such one who would concur with Daenerys.

“I see my reputation precedes me.”

“You have Ser Barristan Selmy to thank for that. He crossed the Narrow Sea after your sister had him dismissed from the Kingsguard.”

“A decision, had I been there, I would have fought. I never particularly liked Selmy, but the man was loyal. And he swore a vow. A Kingsguard serves for life.”

“ _You_ are no longer of the order.”

“No. I was also dismissed, by Tommen. Is Selmy still alive? I doubt it, or I would expect him to whisper in your ear, spewing the evils of the Kingslayer.”

“He died in Meereen.” He was saddened by the news. As much as he disliked him, he had always respected the older knight.

“You know,” Daenerys says, changing the subject. “If this were my brother you were speaking to, you would have been burned alive the second the Dothraki pulled you from the water. He found it amusing to conjure up ideas of what he would do to you once he sat on the Iron Throne and had you grovelling at his feet. It gave him pleasure.”

He hadn’t seen much of young Viserys in his tenure as Aerys’ Kingsguard. The king himself kept him close to hand and therefore he didn’t spend a lot of time guarding the rest of the royal family. He knew Rhaegar, of course, and was forced to stand idle as Aerys committed atrocities towards his wife. He only really interacted with young Viserys in the presence of the king. Viserys had always been on his best behaviour around his father.

He had heard that Viserys died at the hands of a Dothraki horselord. He hadn’t been at all surprised to hear he had inherited his father’s tendencies.

Of what he’s seen so far of the sister, he isn’t sure where he stands. She massacred an army yet is willing to hear his side of the story and stay her hand. If Tyrion trusts the girl, that tells him a lot. Tyrion has always had a good sense of judgement.

“I heard he died. I am sorry.” It is better to pity than to insult.

“I’m not,” she replies blankly.

“You’re not?”

“He was my brother. My only remaining family. But he was not a nice man. He wouldn’t have been a good king. He threatened the life of my unborn babe. He had to die.” This was news he hasn’t heard.

“You have a child?” He asks, genuinely curious.

“Yes. Three. Drogon, Viserion and Rhaegal.” He looks to the two smaller dragons. They flank the larger one as they glide through the clear sky. He chuckles softly.

“Named after your brothers?”

“Yes. Drogon is named after my first husband.”

“The one you were sold to.”

“The very same.” She has avoided his question and it is clear she won’t elaborate. Better to leave with no answers than without his head.

“Can I ask, how did my brother come to be in your service? For someone who clearly hates Lannisters, this one has been elevated to a powerful role within your court in a very short space of time.” She regards him.

“That’s because this one has proved himself loyal and trustworthy. He has offered me sound advice. He has taught me to be a better ruler. By not copying the mistakes of your sister.” He knows Cersei is not fit to rule. She isn’t the same Cersei she used to be. The one who was kind and loving. Now, she is a dictator. He disagrees with the majority of her decisions and isn’t heard when he tries to rebuff them. The people are frightened of her. He wishes things could be different. 

“Tyrion has always been a good talker,” he muses.

“That he is,” she concurs. “He vouches strongly for you. He seems to think you are worth saving.”

“That is your decision to make. Though I would prefer not to be roasted alive, I will not fight you.”

“If I decide that I want you dead, you’ll go willingly?” She asks, disbelief evident.

“I have been escaping death for a long time. Mostly because I have had my father to bribe or I have been of too much value to risk executing. My father is long dead, and what value do I have now?”

“As Cersei’s brother and trusted lieutenant, I would say a considerable amount.”

“I have done many things I am not proud of. Things that would have seen me dead had I not been the son of Tywin Lannister.”

“The murder of my father. Is that one of the things you are not proud of?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Of that I am proud. Prouder than anything else I have accomplished in my life.” He feels her eyes on him, as though she’s trying to search his soul. She hesitates before speaking again.

“You said something. In the aftermath of the battle. You said it was either him or half a million innocents.” He nods as she repeats the words he spoke. “What did you mean by this?”

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

“What do you know of your father?”

“I know that he was not a good person. Barristan told me stories that would make any man tremble with fear. He told me of the burnings. Of the enjoyment he got out of seeing other people die. He told me he raped my mother after he’d murdered. How could you stand by as he did that?” He bows his head in shame. He could not save Rhaella from her husband. He could not save Rhaenys and Aegon and Elia as they were butchered by his father’s men. He will regret these things for the rest of his life.

“I wanted to. I begged my older brothers of the Kingsguard to stop him. but I quickly learned that wasn’t the way it worked. I asked them. I said, ‘Isn’t it our duty to protect them’? ‘Yes,’ was their response. ‘But not from him’. Trust me. If there was anything I could have done, I would have done it. But I had no choice. It haunts me to this very day.” He sees something in her eyes. Sadness. Sympathy.

He doesn’t want sympathy. He wants punishment. He failed them.

“Your father did things I could never imagine a man capable of. He burned Rickard Stark alive whilst his son Brandon was strangled trying to save him. Five hundred men stood in the throne room that day. No-one could do a thing to stop it.”

He sees tears spring in her eyes and begin to trickle down her cheeks. He doesn’t feel sorry for her in the slightest. She wanted the plain truth.

“As a boy, I dreamed of the Kingsguard. The chosen group of seven. The best knights in the realm, sworn to protect the king. I sat awake at night, imagining what it would feel like to be selected to join such an elite group of men. My idols. And then I did, at six and ten. The youngest ever. The day I was presented with my white cloak was the happiest day of my life. And then I discovered the truth. These knights, the ones I had looked up to since I was a boy, could do nothing while their king was terrorising the country. The ‘best in the realm’, as they called them, reduced to nothing. Harrowed. Beaten. Broken.”

Daenerys says nothing and continues to let him talk.

“I thought I had been chosen because I showed promise. I was knighted at five and ten by Ser Arthur Dayne himself. I was excellent with a sword, and everyone knew it. Cersei suggested I join because old Ser Harlan Grandison had died in his sleep. It meant being closer to her, so I agreed. I was elevated to Kingsguard during the tourney at Harrenhal. The same day, Aerys ordered me back to King’s Landing, but Lord Commander Gerold Hightower suggested he go instead so I could compete. Aerys refused. ‘He’s mine now, not Tywin’s’ he said. That’s when I knew. I wasn’t chosen because I was one of the best. I was chosen as leverage against my father. My childhood dreams, crushed in a single minute.”

The Targaryen was ashen. All the colour drained from her face.

“I’m sorry,” he says apologetically. “You don’t want to listen to this.”

“I do. I must understand who my father was. Please, tell me about the day he died.”

He swallows.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

The nightmares still plague him. Reliving them in a way such as this isn’t ideal. But he knows it must be done.

“Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark were coming to depose your father. Rhaegar had kidnapped Lyanna Stark, Ned’s sister and the woman Robert loved. Rhaegar met Robert on the Trident and lost. He died along with Prince Lewyn Martell and Ser Jonothor Darry. Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser Gerold Hightower and Ser Oswell Whent died protecting Lyanna at Rhaegar’s behest. I was the only Kingsguard left in King’s Landing and therefore protection of the city fell to me. Your father was at the peak of his paranoia. He saw enemies everywhere. When he knew my father, who up to that point had remained neutral, had joined the Stark/Baratheon side, he called me to him and ordered me to bring my father’s head or he would take mine from my shoulders. Then he turned to his pyromancer and ordered him to set alight the barrels of wildfire that sat under the city. He planned to destroy King’s Landing. I killed Rossart, the pyromancer. The king ordered my death, but no-one was around to act on his demands. ‘Burn them all’, he said. Over and over. ‘Burn them all.’ I couldn’t let him set the city alight. I couldn’t let half a million innocent people die. When I took my vows as a knight, I swore to protect them. It was a question of keeping one vow over the other. I had to make a choice. And I made it.”

He glances up at her. He expects her to order the Unsullied behind him to ram him through the stomach with a spear. She is shaking. She is clutching the arm of the chair with such a tight grip that her knuckles are white. Her eyes are bloodshot. Her breathing is shallow.

She is panicking.

He knows because it happens to him as well.

“Daenerys!” He says. “Look at me.” He crouches down in front of her, uncaring of her status, and puts his flesh hand over hers. “You need to breathe, Daenerys.” He hears shuffling behind him. he looks to see that the Unsullied have taken a step towards him, but he doesn’t care. He turns back to focus on the woman in front of him. “Breathe with me. In. Out. In. Out.” He stays there on his knees, coaxing her, helping her, until the colour returns to her cheeks and her breathing has regulated. He sits back in his chair as she flicks her eyes to him.

He made a stupid mistake. He realises this. He touched her. And now she will have his head for it.

“Thank you,” she whispers. He startles. “I felt as though I was going to die.” Once he’s got over the initial shock that she’s actually thanking him for helping her, he responds. His throat is dry.

“It happens to me as well. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have laid it out so bare.” She shakes her head as she recovers.

“You should have. You were right to. _I’m_ sorry. I shouldn’t have judged you as quickly as I did. All I saw was a murderer. I couldn’t get past meeting with the man who forced me into exile. I didn’t see the young boy still a child himself, who had to make the most impossible choice imaginable.”

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

These are the last words he thought would come from a Targaryen’s lips. She was sorry for judging him?

“You were willing to listen to me. You are the second person ever who has been prepared to sit and to try to understand. Ned Stark found me in the throne room, sitting on the throne with your father’s body lying at my feet. I was asked if I was to assume the throne and I told him to proclaim who he wanted. Robert allowed me to remain in the guard and dubbed me Kingslayer for my deed. Stark despised me ever since. I’ve grown used to the name and to the insults. For I know in my heart that I did the right thing. Damn Ned Stark. Damn them all.” He flinches when he feels a hand on his arm. He glances up to see Daenerys leaning forward, staring at him intently.

“Thank you for the truth. That can’t have been easy.”

“What do you intend to do with me now? Are these two fine men going to lead me outside? Can I at least choose which dragon I wish to burn me?” He can’t resist a little humour and he sees a small smile tugging at the Targaryen girl’s lips.

“You are safe from my children, Ser. Have no fear. You will not be dying today.”

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

She turns to one of the guards who have resumed their post.

“Please send for Lord Tyrion. There are things we must discuss. Ser Jaime?”

“Yes?”

“I forgive you.”


	4. A Conflict of Interest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime considers his loyalties.

He sits nervously as he waits for Tyrion to arrive. He’s drained, both physically and emotionally. A few short nights’ sleep on the straw of a cold cell doesn’t exactly constitute rest. And having to divulge his life’s secrets to a girl he hardly knows, and a Targaryen at that, has taken its toll. He feels his eyelids drooping, but he knows Daenerys isn’t done with him. He must stay alert. He rubs his eyes.

“So, you’re still alive then?” Comes a voice from behind him. He turns to see his brother dragging a chair towards the table. He places it beside his brother. Tyrion looks to his queen with both relief and apprehension written on his face.

“Ser Jaime and I have had a thorough discussion. I believe we have put the past where it belongs.” He hears Tyrion’s breath hitch.

“What are you trying to say?”

“I have your queen’s forgiveness for murdering Aerys.” He sees light in Tyrion’s eyes. His brother swallows a lump in his throat.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Tyrion addresses Daenerys.

“I may have forgiven your past sins, but we still have a problem.” He frowns.

“What’s that?” She faces Tyrion rather than him.

“Your brother claims he is still loyal to Cersei. If he had to choose, he would choose her. How can I let him stay here when he could be privy to sensitive information that would give his queen an advantage in the upcoming war? How can I let him leave for that same reason? What am I supposed to do with him?”

“My brother is an idiot,” Tyrion says plainly.

“Thank you very much,” he retorts.

“Shut up, Jaime. Your Grace, keep him around for now. Please.”

“Very well. You will be given a chambers, Ser, which you will not leave unless guarded. You will not attend council meetings, and Tyrion,” she shoots her Hand a pointed glare. “Will not divulge any information to you.” He sighs. At least a room beats a damp cell. “If you do not accept my terms, you will be returned to your cell.” He knows he has no choice.

“I accept.” She nods. More footsteps join them in the map room.

“Your Grace,” comes a strong Northern voice. Northern? His eyes widen when he sees who stands behind him. “I must…” He cuts off his speech. Green eyes meet brown.

He is looking at Ned Stark’s bastard.

“Jaime Lannister,” he snarls, lip curling.

“Jon Snow. It’s been a while.”

“Indeed.” The Northerner turns his attention back to Daenerys. “Your Grace. I need to speak with you as a matter of urgency.” The Targaryen girl looks to the two Unsullied standing as still as statues along the wall.

“Please show Ser Jaime to one of the empty rooms in the east wing.”

“I’ll come and see you later,” Tyrion adds, patting his brother’s arm in reassurance.

He stands up and lets the Unsullied lead him out the room. As he’s walking out, he hears Tyrion talking to his queen.

“I’ll find a way to convince him.” He knows he is speaking of his loyalty to Cersei. His stomach flips.

He’s loyal to Cersei. He’s always been loyal to Cersei.

It has always been that way, ever since their birth. So why now is he having doubts? His heart wants his sister. Longs for her. But his head is telling him otherwise. He thinks back on the words Olenna Tyrell spoke before he watched her drink the goblet of poisoned wine.

_“You love her. You really do love her. You poor fool. She’ll be the end of you.”_

At first he had dismissed it. So what if Cersei would be the one to bring about his demise? They’d always dreamed of dying in each other’s arms. But now? He isn’t so sure. Both his heart and head are conflicted.

From what he’s seen of Daenerys, she is merciful. His sister is not. The Targaryen tore through his men with fire and blood, but if Cersei had a dragon, he can bet that she would have done the same, if not worse. He doubts the survivors would be alive to tell the tale if his sister sat on Drogon’s back.

He is scared for his brother. For the next time Tyrion and Cersei come face to face. She will have his head in a second if the two of them are alone. Tyrion murdered their father and Cersei will not forgive him. Daenerys spared the life of her father’s killer and heard him out.

Cersei destroyed an entire sept. She wiped out her enemies. But also members of her own family. Their uncle Kevan. Cousin Lancel. And collaterally, Tommen.

Tommen.

When he tried to speak to her of their son, she refused to enter into that subject of conversation. Now, that could be the reaction of a grieving mother, trying to come to terms with his death, but Tommen wasn’t the first child she lost. She fought vehemently for Joffrey. Attempted to have her own brother sentenced for his murder. She cried, screamed, and fought for justice.

When he returned from Dorne with Myrcella’s corpse under the golden shroud, she cried and screamed and fought for justice. When Euron Greyjoy proudly rode into the throne room on the back of a black destrier brandishing Ellaria and Tyene Sand for all to see, he had seen the glint of malevolence in her eyes. That the justice she so desperately wanted would finally be meted out.

And she did, tenfold. Exacting a mirror image punishment to her daughter’s death by poisoning Tyene Sand with a kiss. Chaining Ellaria up and out of reach. Ensuring she was kept alive so she could watch her daughter die, slowly and painfully.

She came to him after exacting her revenge. She sent someone on the way to their death and then came to him, sex starved and lustful. Like Aerys did to Rhaella. The thought makes him shudder. Disgusted at himself, for allowing himself to enjoy Cersei’s attentions.

Cersei knew. She always had. She knew the ways in which to keep him happy. She knew what would pleasure him. And she used it to her full advantage. He has never been able to break from her. He is ashamed of himself, for standing by while his sister enacted cruel atrocities on innocents.

He killed Aerys for less.

The Unsullied soldiers show him into a chamber. It is of a much higher standard than he expected to be presented with, so he is content. There is an antechamber with a privy and a bath. The bed is large. There is a wardrobe made of the same dark wood that the bedframe is. There is also a table with a chair. He hangs up his jerkin, leaving him in his tunic and breeches. He rids himself of his boots and collapses onto the bed. He is exhausted. He closes his eyes and falls asleep.

He’s woken to the sound of people moving around him. He opens his bleary eyes to see a group of maids carrying buckets. His Unsullied guards are also in the room.

“What’s happening?” He asks groggily, the thrall of sleep still threatening to drag him back down.

“Queen Daenerys has allowed you a bath and a change of clothes,” one says, pointing to the clothes folded neatly at the end of his bed. Finally, he can rid himself of the ones he currently wears which still smell of the smoke that rose from the battlefield. He’d grown accustomed to the stench in the days he spent in the dungeons, but now he wanted to wretch.

“Give Queen Daenerys my thanks,” he replies sincerely. He truly is grateful for this. He hears the sound of splashing water as the bathtub he spied yesterday is filled. When the women have completed their task they and the guards leave him alone.

He divests himself of his clothes and sinks beneath the hot water. He lets his muscles relax and closes his eyes.

Days of doing nothing. Days of sitting in a windowless chamber where all he can do is think. His brain doesn’t stop churning out his past mistakes and regrets. He is tired. He wants to shut it off, but that is impossible.

He finds it hard to tell if its day or night with no light being let into the room. He’s asleep when the door to his chambers bangs open. He’s awake in an instant, his heart racing.

“Jaime!”

It’s only Tyrion.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

“Little brother,” he greets him. “A little privacy if you don’t mind?” He’s sleeping shirtless.

“Don’t be long,” Tyrion warns and lets him shut himself in the antechamber to get dressed. He groans. He’s had enough deep, emotional conversations in the last few days to last him a while, and he suspects he is about to have another.

When he returns to the main chamber, he is pleased to see a decanter of wine and two glasses resting on the table. Tyrion occupies the single chair in the room, so he perches on the edge of the bed. The younger Lannister brother pours two generous glasses of wine and extends one to him. He accepts it gratefully.

When was the last time he drank wine?

“The Queen is gone,” Tyrion states bluntly.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to tell me anything,” he replies. Tyrion shrugs.

“I sent a raven to King’s Landing. To Cersei’s hand, Qyburn.” He shudders. He has never felt comfortable around the man. There’s something remarkably creepy about him. “Daenerys and Jon have suggested a peace summit. There is an army of dead men marching on the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Fishwives gossip.” He’d heard the stories as a child of course. However, there is no truth to them. He frowns when Tyrion shakes his head in disagreement.

“Jon Snow doesn’t seem to think so. That was why he came to Dragonstone. He seemed to think there was dragonglass buried here. Apparently that is what kills these dead men.”

“Did he find it?”

“Yes. You know, they have named him King in the North.” He snorts.

“I heard. I hope he isn’t as foolish as the last one.”

“The one who kept you prisoner for a year?”

“That’s the one. Does this one have a direwolf?”

“Yes.” He grimaces. Robb Stark had liked to use his grey beast to taunt him. He wouldn’t usually be fearful of such a thing, but having the creature snarling in his face whilst he had nowhere to go was not an experience he enjoyed nor one he would like to have again.

“One thing I don’t understand,” he says. “How does a bastard who decided to join the Night’s Watch become King in the North? As with the Kingsguard, the Night’s Watch take a vow for life. How has he broken it and been allowed to keep his head?”

“Worked well enough for you.”

“I was dismissed,” he snaps. The memory is not a pleasant one. He meant his vows when he took them. It was the fault of that bloody Sparrow, whispering in Tommen’s ear. “It was the King of the Seven Kingdoms who released me from my duties. Who does Jon Snow answer to?”

“If I’m being honest, brother, I am not entirely sure.” He’s had one conversation with Ned Stark’s bastard, when Robert Baratheon travelled to Winterfell.

_“Let me thank you ahead of time, for guarding us all from the perils beyond the wall. Wildlings and White Walkers and whatnot. I’m grateful we’ve got good, strong men like you protecting us. Give my regards to the Night’s Watch. I’m sure it will be thrilling to serve in such an elite force. And if not, it’s only for life.”_

His words stemmed from his own vows. His Kingsguard vows. Serving alongside the men he’d aspired to become, before realising the true meaning of being one of the Seven. Swearing vows and protecting the Realm may seem honourable, but that is far from the truth.

Though if these rumours that Tyrion is speaking of are true, then he will have to take back every word he uttered to the bastard. Jon Snow has surpassed his expectations.

“Jaime,” Tyrion’s voice interrupts his thought process. “You’re thinking again.”

“Sorry. This peace summit that the dragon queen and the King in the North are suggesting? You are all crazy if you think Cersei will agree to meet.”

“Contrary to your assumption, you will be surprised to hear that she has already accepted my invitation.” He stares at his brother. Cersei had repeatedly told him that the only interaction she wanted with Daenerys Targaryen was to kill her, not to parlay.

“She’s planning something,” he says absentmindedly. “She would not do this without having a strategy in place.”

“So, you’re not stupid then. Good.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know that she will not attend this summit out of curiosity or genuine concern. She’ll do it for her own personal gain. To further her game plan. You know what Cersei is, Jaime.”

“Of course I do. I’ve always known.”

“And do you agree with the actions she takes to ensure she stays in power?”

“No! I never have done.”

“Then why are you standing by her?”

“Are we really rehashing this conversation?” He sighs. He’s had enough of thinking about Cersei.

“Yes, Jaime, because I need you to wake up and see the light. Tell me honestly. Of what you’ve seen so far, what do you think of Daenerys?”

“She’s merciful. She listens to her advisors. I just can’t shake the idea that…”

“That she might turn into her father?” Tyrion finishes for him.

“Yes.”

“I know you have previous with mad Targaryens. I know that what Aerys put you and the rest of the country through was horrific. I have been in Daenerys’ service for a while now. She is not her father, Jaime. She keeps good counsel. If she continues to listen to them and heed their advice then she could be one of the greatest rulers Westeros has ever had. Don’t let yourself get killed over some misplaced loyalty. If you weren’t Cersei’s twin and… lover…”

“Then I would have left her the minute I returned from Riverrun and she crowned herself queen. That was when I knew she was lost to me. I know Cersei isn’t fit to rule. I know she needs to be deposed and a just ruler must take the throne. But I can’t see her die Tyrion. I can’t.”

“Then maybe its best not to look.” He freezes. He snarls, like a lion about to pounce.

“Get out.”

“Jaime…”

“Get out! Now!” He slams his empty glass on the table. He can see the tears in his brother’s eyes, but he doesn’t care. He cannot _believe_ Tyrion.

His brother hesitates.

Then he squeezes his eyes shut and speaks again.

“What if there was a way to save her?” He stops. Tyrion has his attention again. “If she surrenders then I’ll ensure Queen Daenerys spares her an execution. You said it yourself. The queen is merciful. If Cersei gives up the throne, she gets to live.” He breathes deeply. Calming himself down.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

“That’s fair. I’m sorry. For shouting at you.”

“It’s fine.”

“Can I tell the queen that you’ll swear fealty to her?”

“Only if allowing Cersei to surrender is part of the deal.”

“You have my word.”

“Then you have mine.” Tyrion bows his head in pure relief. His brother downs the remainder of his wine before picking up the empty decanter and glasses. He makes his way to the door. He sees Tyrion place his hand on the doorknob before turning back to face him.

“Jaime, if Cersei doesn’t surrender, then there is nothing I can do to save her.” He knows this. But he needs the chance to get his sister out. If anyone can get her to see sense, it’s him.

Tyrion leaves the room, shutting the door behind him. He lies back on the bed.

Pledging himself to another Targaryen. He must be mad.


	5. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany grieves. Siblings reunite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story used to be called 'The Aftermath'. I have changed the title.
> 
> becca x

“Brother!” Tyrion addresses him as he steps into his room. “The Queen’s mission beyond the wall was successful and now we are to travel to King’s Landing to meet with our sister.”

“Well, safe travels. I hope Cersei doesn’t see fit to kill you.”

“Us.”

“What?”

“Queen Daenerys wishes for you to accompany us. To stand beside us at the meet.” He frowns.

“You are japing? You are insane to think that if Cersei sees me bending the knee to anyone other than her she won’t retaliate tenfold.”

“That’s the point. We want Cersei to become reckless. Then we strike whilst she’s exposed.” His shoulders slump as he sits back on the bed.

“I hate that you’re talking about our sister like she’s some kind of weapon of mass destruction.”

“She is, Jaime. She’s proven to be so time and time again. If you don’t approve, Daenerys will mark you as a traitor and execute you.”

“Great, so I’m doing this under threat for my life?”

“No!” Tyrion snaps. “You’re doing it because it’s the right thing to do. You are going to be instrumental in bringing Daenerys to the throne. You could really make a difference here, Jaime. For the good and for your honour.” He sighs. Tyrion is right.

“Fine. I’ll come with you. But I will _not_ be the scapegoat when it inevitably goes horribly wrong.”

“Noted,” Tyrion murmurs. “Now, come. The Queen wishes to speak with you before we leave.”

His heart pounds. He will swear loyalty to a Targaryen in front of his Lannister sister. The queen he backed when no-one else would.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

If he does this, Cersei is lost to him forever. Her forgiveness would only consist of the mercy of a quick death. There would be no chance at reconciliation.

But as he mulls it over, he knows in his heart that it is the right thing to do. Cersei sitting on the throne isn’t good for anybody. The country deserves a more just ruler than his sister. He has to do this, for the safety of Westeros.

He follows Tyrion back to the map room, his two Unsullied guards shadowing his footsteps. They remain outside as his brother leads him in. Daenerys stands at the head of the table, with Jon Snow barely a metre away from her. He narrows his eyes as he examines the body language of the two of them. They seem close. It wasn’t that long ago that they received news that Jon Snow had succeeded his brother as King in the North. If he and the Targaryen girl are together, it happened very quickly.

Snow offers him a curt nod in greeting, which he reciprocates.

Varys stands at the table along with a man he can only assume is the Unsullied commander and Missandei, the young woman sent to fetch him from the cells. He isn’t all that surprised when he also sees Theon Greyjoy stand side by side with the dragon queen.

Euron had explained the first time he’d had an audience with Cersei that Theon and his sister Yara had stolen Greyjoy’s fleet and taken them to ally with Daenerys.

Yara is Euron’s prisoner, he knows. She had been paraded through the throne room along with Ellaria and Tyene Sand. He doubts her uncle will have killed her. Euron is far too vindictive to make it that easy for her.

He sees Theon meet his eyes and the lad stiffens before casting his eyes to the ground. He’s perplexed. The young man he met at Winterfell was confident and cocky. Theon is no longer that person.

He remembers seeing Jorah Mormont in Robert’s court as some time or another. There are a couple of Dothraki and another man who he can’t place. He doubts he’s met him before. And Bronn.

He is glad to see his friend recovered and well rested.

“Good to see you still have a head,” the sellsword mutters to him.

“I appreciate your concern,” he replies jokingly, before the tone of voice turns serious. “It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah, you too.” Their exchange is cut short when the dragon queen softly clears her throat.

“Ser Jaime,” Daenerys addresses him. “Glad you could join us.”

“ _Like I had the choice,_ ” he thinks to himself.

He feels the eyes of every man at the table on him. Wary. Untrusting. Looking for any signs of aggression or treachery. He knows better than to question them. He is used to this.

“Happy to help.” He hears Mormont grumble, assuming that it is at the lack of a former title for the Targaryen girl, but he isn’t pledged to her yet. He will only address her formally once he has officially bent the knee. The dragon queen speaks again.

“Lord Tyrion tells me you wish to cast aside your loyalties for Cersei and pledge your allegiance in favour of myself. Not long ago, you insisted that Cersei was the only queen worthy of your support.”

“Your Grace,” Mormont interrupts. “How can you be sure this is not all an elaborate ruse? That the Kingslayer isn’t solely here to gather information and bring you down from the inside.”

“She can’t be sure,” he snaps back. “She, and you, are simply going to have to take my word for it.”

“The word of an oath breaker,” Mormont scoffs. He shakes his head and takes a few deep breaths to calm himself down.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

If he and Mormont were to start a fight in the middle of a council meeting, he will bet a hundred gold dragons he would find himself back in the dungeon. He closes his eyes before turning his gaze to the Targaryen.

“I know what my sister is. I know she isn’t fit to rule. But I don’t want my sister dead. I told Tyrion that the terms of my allegiance are that I am allowed to give Cersei a chance to surrender.”

“And I have agreed,” she replies. He sighs with relief.

“You can squabble over the Iron Throne later.” Jon Snow has spoken for the first time. “There is a more pressing war at hand. The war to the North. The Night King is coming.”

“He exists?” He asks.

“He does,” Snow replies.

“I didn’t believe it myself until I saw. I saw them all,” Daenerys says.

He feels like he’s been hit in the gut with Robert’s Warhammer. The Targaryen girl has a look in her eye. A look which speaks no falsities. The Others are no fishwives gossip. They are real.

“How many?”

“A hundred thousand. At least,” she says distantly. He sees her trying to battle tears and wonders what it is about. Is it the fact that she may not have a kingdom to rule over if the

White Walkers destroy everyone? Did something happen whilst her party were beyond the wall? He sees Snow place a hand on Daenerys’ arm and ask her softly if she was alright. That seems to bring her back to the present.

“We need information from you,” Jon Snow tells him.

“What kind of information?”

“The summit is to be held at the Dragonpit,” Tyrion cuts in. He is surprised that this is the location of their meet simply because it is outside. It makes it a lot harder for Cersei to enact any plans if they are not indoors. “We need numbers, Jaime. How many guards she is likely to have.” He conjures an image of the Dragonpit in his mind. It is a place he hasn’t visited in a long time, but its layout is as clear as day in his mind.

“She will most definitely be accompanied by all seven Queensguard. Tommen is gone. There is no-one else they have to answer to now. The Queensguard includes Gregor Clegane.” He sees Tyrion balk.

“The Mountain? He died Jaime. Oberyn killed him.” As his brother speaks, he hears him faltering with each new thought that passes through his lips. “Didn’t he?”

“Somehow Qyburn has managed to reanimate him. I’m not quite sure how. He doesn’t eat. He doesn’t sleep. He’s indestructible.”

“Why did you decide to bring that man back with you from Harrenhal?” Tyrion groans. “No wonder he’s managed to become Cersei’s Hand. He’s just as twisted as she is.” He doesn’t like to, but he admits he must agree. “So, the seven Queensguard. What else?”

“She’ll have the household guard surrounding the pit,” he surmises. “Armed men every… Three yards. Four maximum. All with orders to kill everyone who isn’t her if it goes wrong. Though she might spare Tyrion and I. Kill us slowly.” He shares a knowing glance with his brother.

“What’s to stop her attempting to kill us the minute we land on the shores of King’s Landing?” The older man he didn’t know asks him.

“You are?” He asks.

“Davos Seaworth. Advisor to the King in the North.”

“Ah. I can’t say for certain. But Cersei wouldn’t have agreed to this if it wasn’t in her immediate interest. She’ll hear you out. She’d want you to know she was going to murder you.”

“If she has any sense, she’ll pledge her forces to fight with us at Winterfell,” Jon Snow states. He appreciates the boy’s aspirations, even if they have a near to impossible chance of happening.

“Cersei and sense are not words I would use in the same sentence,” Tyrion quips. He feels a knot of nerves in the pit of his stomach.

“Well, if that’s everything,” Daenerys says. “We’d better prepare for travel. I will be flying with Drogon and Rhaegal.” He looks up. Doesn’t she have three dragons? “The rest of you will travel by ship. You leave at first light. Ser Jaime, if you could remain.” He is confused as to why she wants to talk to him alone. The remainder of people file from the room. Mormont points him with a glare as he leaves.

“I’m sorry about him,” Daenerys says absentmindedly. “He’s very protective.”

“I guessed,” he replied. She chuckles softly.

“I understand how hard this must be for you. Hearing us devising strategies to depose your sister. Your twin.”

 _Your lover,_ is the glaring omission.

“This is war. Sometimes the hard thing to do is the right thing to do,” he replies truthfully.

“Very true,” she replies, looking at the floor. He can see her eyes water again.

“Can I ask what happened? It didn’t escape my notice that you only mentioned the names of two of your dragons.” Her shoulders slump and she deflates. “I’m sorry if that was too presumptuous.”

“It’s like you said. This is war and there will be loss. That doesn’t make it any easier to come to terms with.” He stays silent and lets her speak. “The men who had gone beyond the wall were trapped. They faced inevitable death. Gendry had somehow got a message to me. Jorah was there. Jon was there. I had to go. I had to save them. I took all three of my dragons with me. I got there and found the men. I began burning down wights. They continued fighting as they began to climb onto the back of Drogon. Jon was incensed. Wight after wight he cut down. I was too focused on saving the men. Jon was too focused on killing dead people. We didn’t see the threat from the Night King. It was stupid of me. I…” She has given in and the tears fall down her face.

“We don’t have to continue this dis…” She cuts him off with a wave.

“I heard a screech. A defeaning screech. Saw a ball of fire. Viserion… Viserion was falling through the sky. Bleeding. Burning. Falling. I couldn’t stop it.” The tears stop and her voice is laced with vitriol. Anger. “All I could do was watch as my child crashed and slid through the ice and into the water.”

“I’m so sorry,” he says sincerely.

“He’s dead. Because I was too stupid.”

“His death is not your fault,” he replies. “It’s not.”

“Jon continued fighting the wights. Then he was dragged underwater and didn’t resurface. I had to leave him there. I had to save Drogon and Rhaegal. Jorah. The others.”

“He’s here now.”

“He is. But my child is gone.”

“You will avenge him,” he says. He knows what its like to lose a child and though Viserion may not have been a person, it is clear the connection Daenerys felt towards him was as strong as any human bond. “The next time you come face to face with this Night King, you will use your grief and your anger to strike him down and erase him for all time. Use this to motivate you. Don’t let it defeat you.” He knows he might be overstepping the mark to

presume how she feels, but he looks at her and knows that the words he spoke were the right ones.

“I told Jon as much. That was when he swore his allegiance to me.”

“That’s because Jon Snow can see as well as I can that you will be a better ruler than Cersei ever was.”

“I’m glad I have your support, Ser Jaime.”

“I still love my sister. She’s my twin. She bore three of my children. I will never stop loving her. But just because I love her does not mean I think she is a good queen. This is why I want to give her a chance to surrender. Not because I am a spy as Mormont likes to think. Not because I plan to run back into her arms. But because I love her, and I don’t want to see her dead.”

“I understand. I trust you.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, go and prepare. The ships leave at first light.”

He stands at the front of the boat beside Jon, Bronn, and Davos. Jorah and Missandei look out to the side. In front of them, the mass Greyjoy fleet are docked. Euron’s, not Theon’s. He grimaces at the thought of having to come face to face with that cretin again. He feels even more anxiety about seeing his sister again. He dreads to think what her reaction will be. Not a pleasant one. He knows that much.

He has been given a suit of Lannister armour. One of the survivors from the Battle of the Goldroad provided it. It is a little too broad around the shoulders and short in the arms, but it will suffice. It isn’t as extravagant as the suit he wore as Commander of the Lannister armies. Part of him is grateful for that.

The remnants of the Lannister army took up residence in the Dragonstone barracks alongside the Dothraki and Unsullied.

Behind the Greyjoy fleet is the Red Keep, prominent and menacing. He sees the ashen face of Jon Snow. This is the furthest South the bastard will ever have been. He heard during their voyage that Davos Seaworth is a Flea Bottom native, so this is coming home for him. Just in company of a higher calibre.

He hears footsteps and turns to see Tyrion stand beside him; the silver Hand of the Queen badge pinned proudly on his chest.

“How many people live here?” Snow asks.

“Between half a million to a million,” he answers without thinking. The population has surely grown since he killed King Aerys.

“That’s more people than the entire North,” Snow replies, a disgusted look on his face. “Crammed into that. Why would anyone want to live that way?”

“There’s more work in the city,” Tyrion explains. “And the brothels are far superior.”

“I concur,” Bronn quips.

He gives his brother a sly look. He shakes his head and laughs. Of course that’s where Tyrion’s mind takes him. He hears screeches coming from below deck. The wight that Daenerys lost a dragon for. He shudders. He hasn’t had the fortune to see the blasted thing yet, and he isn’t looking forward to it.

Cersei hasn’t seen fit to send anyone to escort them to the meeting, but he and Tyrion know the way and lead their troupe towards the pit.

“Why did they build it?” Missandei asks, obviously referencing the pit.

“Dragons don’t understand the difference between what is theirs and what isn’t,” Mormont replies. “Land. Livestock. Children. Letting them roam free around the city was a problem.”

“I imagine it was a sad joke at the end,” Tyrion chimes in. He thinks on their childhood. Tyrion loved dragons. He read book after book on them. He could recite all their names without thinking. “An entire arena. A few sickly creatures smaller than dogs. But in the beginning, when it was home to Balerion the Dread, it must have been the most dangerous place in the world.” His words die out, and they are stopped short at the sight of an oncoming troupe of Lannister guards.

“Maybe it still is,” Davos comments.

He freezes when he sees who is at the head of it.

“Addam?” He asks. His friend recognises him.

“Jaime! What are you doing here?” He shakes his head and tells his friend it is a story for another time.

“Tyrion. It is good to see you.”

“Ser Addam.” Then he spies a blonde head and a set of blue armour. Her sword sparkles. He sees Podrick standing next to her. He is relieved to see the boy has survived.

“Welcome, my lords,” Addam addresses their group. “Your friends arrived before you did,” he continues, gesturing to Brienne and Podrick. He and his previous companion share a look. “I’ve been sent to escort you all to the meeting.” The Lannister soldiers create a divide. The Dothraki who accompany them look to Tyrion and he nods, instructing them to move forwards. He falls in beside Brienne.

“Ser Jaime,” she greets him.

“Lady Brienne,” he responds.

“Why are you here?”

“It’s a long story. I don’t want to bore you with it.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing. If Queen Cersei sees you standing beside her enemies…”

“I promise you, I’m protected. Why are _you_ here? I thought you were safe in Winterfell.”

“Lady Sansa sent me to attend on her behalf.”

“And you agreed. Cersei won’t take too kindly to you being here either. She confronted you at Joffrey’s wedding. She knows of our history.”

“You needn’t worry about me, Ser Jaime. I’ll be fine.” He hopes. She moves to speak to the Hound. Clegane is pulling along the horse which leads the crate containing the wight. He warned the Hound of his brother’s change during their journey here.

He’s going into this with some degree of trepidation. He knows Cersei won’t like seeing him stand alongside Daenerys and Jon and Tyrion and Brienne. And he knows, if she were to punish him for it, then it wouldn’t be him getting hurt. She would make him watch as she ripped them limb from limb. He will protect them as best he can.

Podrick sidles up to Tyrion and he walks just behind them.

“Pleasant surprise in an unpleasant situation,” Tyrion says. His brother had always been fond of the squire.

“I never thought I’d see you again My Lord,” Podrick replies.

“Supporting the enemy, no less,” Tyrion responds.

“Hard to blame you.”

“Cersei will anyway,” Tyrion quips. He sighs. This much is true.

Podrick lifts his head and greets him. He smiles warmly.

“I trust you’ve looked after your lady diligently?” He asks him.

“As you commanded, Ser Jaime.”

“Glad to hear it. Good to see you’re alive and well.”

“Come on!” Bronn calls from beside him. “You can suck his magic cock later.” Tyrion rolls his eyes as they continue to walk. He furrows his brow. That, surprisingly, is a story he hasn’t heard of before.

“Here we are!” Tyrion proclaims. “The heroes of Blackwater Bay.” That is one battle he had the fortune to miss. His time was occupied as a prisoner of war, but he had heard the tales. “Strange place for a reunion.”

“It is, My Lord,” Podrick agrees.

“I don’t think I’m anyone’s lord anymore, Podrick,” Tyrion replies. How the mighty hath fallen. Tywin Lannister would be rolling in his grave if he saw his two sons at the side of a Targaryen.

They have reached their destination. The Dragonpit is just as he remembered it to be. The remnants of what was once a magnificent structure. Burned, ruined walls, as high as the trees. Three pavilions have been set up on the stage in the middle. Lannister banners adorn the walls, and he was right. Guards stand every three yards, spears and shields held tight.

Cersei isn’t here yet. He hadn’t expected her to be. She will want to make an entrance. What she doesn’t know is there will be an even bigger one. Daenerys will trump his sister’s arrival which will set her on edge from the off.

He looks around, checking if any obvious traps have been set. It looks as though the pit is clean. Bronn advances Podrick.

“Come on, Pod. Let’s you and me go have a drink whilst the fancy folks talk, eh?” Bronn knows King’s Landing like the back of his hand. If Cersei has any men on the lookout, Bronn and Podrick will be safe.

Podrick looks to Brienne for permission. She nods, granting it, and the two men walk away. There is silence, as the group wait for something to happen. He sees the Hound approach Tyrion and the two talk. But they are stopped short at the sound of footsteps. He turns.

His stomach sinks.

Cersei reaches the dais and gives Tyrion the darkest glare he has ever seen. He turns from the two of them. He isn’t ready for this.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

He doesn’t look at his sister, and he is certain she hasn’t seen him yet. But then…

“Jaime?”

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

He lifts his head. She is more confused than angry.

“Cersei,” he replies, inclining his head.

“Why are you here? The last I heard you were defeated at the Goldroad.” This is a conversation he wishes he didn’t have in front of an audience, especially Brienne. And Mormont, who is looking for an excuse to punch him in the face. He feels Jon Snow’s gaze boring into his back. And Tyrion looks at him with encouragement.

“I was. I was taken prisoner by Daenerys Targaryen.”

“So, you were forced to be here?”

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

He swallows.

He’s panicking.

This is harder than he thought it would be.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

He is no coward.

“I have pledged myself to Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen,” he says loud enough for everyone to hear.

Silence.

Cersei doesn’t respond.

Or try to hit him.

Or order her men to seize him.

Or to kill the rest of them.

She is standing stock still, as though she was a statue, then turns her head to look at Tyrion.

“This is your doing,” she says. “You hate me that much that you kill father, Joffrey and Myrcella and now you take Jaime from me too?”

“No Cersei!” He snaps. Tyrion will not take the blame for this. “This is of my own volition!” He can see the cogs turning in her brain. Sadness flits across her features. Barely, before it is replaced by anger.

“Ser Gregor! Bring me…” But her command is cut off.

By the screech of a dragon.


	6. Two Queens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enemies meet.

He is relieved of the reprieve that the arrival of Daenerys brings. He can see Cersei’s chest heave and knows that is the sign of his sister trying to control her anger.

She doesn’t look at him. Her focus is solely on Drogon and his rider.

He studies her, searching for any hints that would show she is in any way affected by this.

He knows his sister better than anyone, so to the others’ eyes she may be indifferent, but he knows her well enough to see that the indifference she is trying to portray is most definitely masking fear. This is his sister’s first encounter with the dragon. Now she has the proof they exist.

Drogon lands on one of the walls of the Dragonpit, rocks crumbling under his talons and trickling to the ground. The dragon roars with a ferocity that chills him to the bone. He remembers the first time he heard that roar. The day his men were slaughtered. That is something that will never leave him for the rest of his life.

Daenerys slides from his back and she makes her way up the steps and onto the dais.

His sister and his queen lock eyes. Daenerys is calm. Cersei is calculated.

“Shall we begin?” Tyrion asks when neither queen is willing to be the first to concede.

Daenerys moves to the right-side pavilion and Cersei walks to the centre pavilion and sits in the central chair. Her Queensguard stand in a row behind her, Clegane in the centre. Euron, the smirking piece of shit, sits on her left. The position he would normally take. Qyburn seats himself on her right.

The Northern retinue take the pavilion to the left of Cersei’s. Jon, Brienne, Davos, and Sandor. Daenerys’ troupe sit in the right. He sits in the back row, beside Theon Greyjoy and directly behind the Targaryen. Something he is grateful for. This means he is hidden somewhat from his sister.

Not that she cares, clearly, as she is staring at him. He feels her eyes burn into him and he is remarkably uncomfortable. This is not an unusual feeling, however. Cersei has never been one for comfort. When they were together, it always insisted of a quick fumble before he was kicked out of bed and forced to stand guard at her husband’s door the next day on little to no sleep. It was always on her terms and never on his. He understood the reason for it, but that didn’t make it any less humiliating.

They are all seated.

And there’s silence.

Cersei doesn’t say a word, but her eyes bore into him, and him alone.

When it is on the precipice of becoming too awkward, he sees his brother glance at Daenerys, who nods at him. It is Tyrion who set up this meeting. It will be Tyrion who leads it. But before he can speak, there is movement. He looks up to see The Hound leaving the Northern pavilion and walking towards Cersei’s. The Mountain squeezes himself between his queen and his creator to stand in front of his brother, hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Look at you,” Comes the deep voice of Sandor Clegane. His brother does not reply. He has been mute ever since Qyburn brought him back to life. “Even fucking uglier than I am now. What did they do to you?” He asked Qyburn this question once, when the Kingsguard still wore gold. He was not provided with a straight answer. He grimaces at the thought and a part of him is glad that the disgraced Maester spared him the gory details. “Doesn’t matter,” The Hound continues. “I will still be the end of you.”

The Hound walks away. He was put in charge of ensuring the wight’s safe transportation and their demonstration will be occurring soon. He walks down the steps to collect it. The Mountain retakes his place behind Cersei.

He sees Mormont lean in and hears what he whispers to his queen.

“He did it, Your Grace. Lannister. Swore his allegiance to you in front of his sister.” She turns her head and fixes him with a gaze.

“I presume she wasn’t happy with that?”

“No.”

“Thank you, Ser Jaime. When we return to Dragonstone, you shall swear formally. But for now, I am grateful.” She turns back.

Now that the Clegane brothers have had their one-sided confrontation, this leaves Tyrion free to begin their discussion. His brother stands and walks to the centre of the dais before facing his sister.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet. These are unprecedented times and…”

“Theon!” He glances up to see Euron Greyjoy interrupting his brother. “I have your sister. If you don’t submit to me here, now, I’ll kill her.” He was never one for subtlety. He glances to the younger Greyjoy, who swallows a lump in his throat. But Tyrion looks to be unperturbed by the unwelcoming interruption.

“I think we ought to begin with larger concerns,” Tyrion states.

“Then why are you talking? You’re the smallest concern here.” He can feel a knot of rage tightening in his stomach. When he stood side by side with Euron in King’s Landing he could, more often than not, ignore the slimy creature’s taunts. They were meaningless. Baseless. However, this is his brother. If someone is going to insult his brother, they will have to go through him first. Tyrion simply shakes his head and laughs. He’s always admired his brother’s skill to wave away the insults thrown at him since the day he was born. Tyrion turns to Theon.

“Do you remember when we discussed dwarf jokes?” Theon has a glint in his eye.

“He has never been the smartest Greyjoy.”

“That much is obvious,” Tyrion continues. “Never explain it at the end, that always ruins it.”

“We don’t even let your kind live in the Iron Islands,” Euron rebuttals. “We kill you at birth as an act of mercy for the parents.” He’s had enough.

“Sit down and shut up,” he barks, his eyes firmly fixed on the Greyjoy. Euron laughs.

“You command _me_ , Kingslayer? You think you can defend him? I’d take you out before you even had the chance to unsheathe your sword.” He smirks.

“I’ve killed krakens before. I am not afraid to spill Greyjoy blood,” he rebuffs. Then he see’s the queen’s eyes meet his.

“Not the time, Ser Jaime,” she says. She’s right. He sits back, but Euron isn’t done.

“From the Lion of Lannister to a slut’s lapdog.”

“Euron, sit down,” his sister says, unimpressed. “If you must behave like a child, then kindly remove yourself. Or I could ask Ser Gregor to do the honours.” He shoots him one last look before retaking his seat. Tyrion rolls his shoulders before he continues where he left off. He has clearly taken this interchange into consideration before he speaks next.

“We are a group of people who do not like one another, as this recent demonstration has shown. We have suffered at each other’s hand. We have lost people we love at each other’s hand.” He can see that Cersei wants to say something. Likely wanting to scream bloody murder at her brother for the deaths of their father and son. She is barely restraining herself, but she does. “But that is the past. It is the future we must be concerned about. A future, which, unless we do something about it, will change the course of the world forever.”

“You wish for me to side with kinslayers and traitors? You wish me to forgive and forget?” Cersei snaps.

Jon Snow stands to speak.

“There is no time to hold trials and cage prisoners,” he states. “The dead don’t care if you are a prisoner or a traitor. A servant or a tailor. A queen or a prince. It does not matter to them. They will kill you regardless.”

Many people will die in this upcoming war, he knows. Friend and foe alike. The idea of being cut down only to be reanimated and fighting for the opposing side… That doesn’t bear thinking about. Once he’s dead, he wants that to be the end. He does not want to be brought back. “Ser Jaime tells me a million people live in this city.” He feels his sister’s burning gaze again. He is giving valuable information to her enemies. “They are about to become a million more soldiers in the army of the dead.”

“I imagine for most of them it would be an improvement,” Cersei quips. He hears mutters and groans and fights to suppress his own. He knows this is Cersei putting up her defences. An act, to portray that this war means nothing to her. Jon Snow hasn’t taken too kindly to her words either. He stalks towards her, under the watchful eye of her silent bodyguard.

“There is no point in trying to persuade you if you will not take this seriously. The dead are real.”

“I have heard these tales since I was a child. If they have not shown face before, why would they do so now? Where is your proof?” If Cersei wants proof, then she will get it. Then she has to change her mind. Surely. His sister isn’t a fool “You are asking for a truce, correct?”

“Yes.” Daenerys has spoken for the first time since they sat down.

“Do you expect me to agree to anything you say? You have already proven you’re untrustworthy by kidnapping my top general and forcing him to abandon his loyalties.”

“I told you…” He begins to speak but Daenerys cuts him off by raising her hand. He shuts his mouth and leans back in his chair.

“I don’t force anybody to do anything,” the Targaryen says coolly.

“You wish for me to send my troops up North and fight these so-called dead men? To leave my capital undefended?”

“Your capital will be safe until the Night King is defeated,” Daenerys responds.

“The Night King? What fables are these?” Cersei laughs. “A King of the White Walkers. If you expect me to take you seriously, then learn how to lie better.”

“No fables,” Jon Snow says. “I have met him. Fought him.”

“Too much time in the cold has left you touched, bastard.” Cersei addresses him.

“As I said,” the dragon queen snaps. “Your capital will be safe until the Northern threat is dealt with. You have my word.”

“The word of a would-be usurper. Though, it looks as though you have a tendency for stupidity. You have trusted the word of one oath breaker already,” she says, pointing directly at him. “You trust the word of the man who killed your father?” His cheeks burn.

“Ser Jaime has proven himself to be a valuable ally.” Cersei snorts but says nothing further. Tyrion stands again.

“You asked for proof, Cersei? Here it is.”

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

All heads turn towards The Hound who, singlehandedly, with the crate strapped to his back walks up the steps and into the arena. On shaking legs, he kneels and divests himself of the ropes which held the box to his body.

He keeps his stare firmly on his sister, as do both Daenerys and Tyrion. Sandor pulls the bolts out and slides the lid from the top but is hesitant to do more. Cersei laughs in disbelief.

With a nod from Jon Snow, Sandor kicks the crate over.

The noise it makes is horrific. It bolts from its confines and runs straight for his sister. He stands abruptly, holding onto his sword for good measure. He catches a glimpse of the piercing blue eyes.

It is pulled back before it can touch Cersei. There is a chain wrapped around its neck and The Hound tugs at it.

It turns its gaze and tries for the Clegane. Sandor steels himself and slices it in half when it comes within reach. The creature is still writhing, alive, but incapable of any more damage.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

He has stopped breathing. He forces himself to inhale. Once. Twice. Three times.

That is the most horrendous thing he has ever seen. If this is what Jon Snow is warning them of, then he has good reason. His heart is pounding in his chest. He does not want to become… That.

He looks to the central pavilion. His sister is clinging to her chair as if her life depends on it. Her face is ashen, and her lips are white with tension. She’s shaking. Shuddering. Panicking. He has never seen his sister as fearful as she is now.

Cersei must see reason now. She doesn’t have a choice if she wants to live. This is no joke. No fable. These things will wipe out humanity if they have the chance.

The only one unaffected seems to be Jon Snow. When the thing is on the ground, the King in the North steps forward.

The creature tries to grab Sandor and The Hound retaliates by cutting its arm clean off. The arm still moves. Cersei leans forward, scared stiff.

Jon Snow speaks for the first time since the creature made its presence known. Davos stands at his side and passes him an unlit torch. With a flint, he lights it.

“We can destroy them by burning them,” Jon Snow informs, lighting the arm on fire and letting it drop to the ground. Not long after it hits the floor, it goes still. The dragons will help with hordes of wights that succumb to fire. They have a huge advantage with them in their arsenal. “And we can destroy them with dragonglass.” He pulls a blade from his cloak and stabs it into the chest of the undead creature.

It screeches horrendously one last time before falling silent.

“If we don’t get past our petty feuding and band together,” Jon says. “Then that is the fate of every person in the world.” He shivers. That is not a world he wants to live in. A world of death and destruction. Humanity wiped out for eternity. “The Iron Throne is nothing compared to human existence. Who cares which king or queen rules? Who cares which taxes are imposed or which grain stores have run dry? Stark. Lannister. Targaryen. Greyjoy. These names mean nothing. Your ranks and lands and titles mean nothing, until the Night King is defeated.” The King in the North looks to Cersei. “Now do you understand? This is no jape. No plot to overthrow you. I implore you. Help us in this fight. It is the only war that matters.”

Cersei is silent. He supposes this is better than her sarcastic defence. Jon Snow speaks the truth. Who cares which king’s arse is on the throne when all the kings could be dead? When they’d have no kingdom to rule because their subjects are mindless monsters?

He sits down. Thanks the Gods the thing is dead. He is not looking forward to the time when he will see the hundred thousand that Daenerys estimated there was.

There is movement. Euron Greyjoy stands from his chair and looks to Jon Snow.

“Can they swim?”

“No,” Jon replies. Euron faces his queen.

“I’m taking the Iron Fleet back to the Iron Islands. I’ve been around the world. I’ve seen nightmarish creatures. Things you couldn’t have imagined in your darkest dreams and this is the only thing I’ve seen that terrifies me.”

“Coward,” Theon spits as his uncle walks away. He has to agree with the younger Greyjoy’s sentiment. He is glad to see the back of Euron and is satisfied to know that underneath the bravado, the man is still a gutless snake. Cersei would never love a man like that.

“He’s right to be afraid,” Cersei says. She seems to have collected herself again. “And a coward to run.” She will not take kindly to this insult. Her closest ally has just deserted her in front of her enemies. She will more than likely set her dogs after Euron. Hunt him down and gut him. “You are right. It will not matter that I am Queen to them. The struggles of the last fifty years will be for nothing. Until the dead are defeated, they are the only enemy.” He glances at Jon Snow’s face and sees relief. It seems Cersei has heeded his words after all. Palpable relief is felt throughout the stadium. He sees Davos pinch the bridge of his nose. “The Crown accepts your truce. In return the King in the North will extend this truce. He will remain in the North where he belongs, where the fight for our very existence will take place. He will not rebel against the Crown nor choose sides. I only ask this of Ned Stark’s son for I know he will be true to his word.” Jon looks conflicted.

Just say you will, he thinks. Conflict will be avoided if he agrees.

“I have always tried to emulate the person my father was. But that means being honest and I cannot make a deal on behalf of the North to one queen if I am pledged to another. I have already sworn allegiance to Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen.”

Stupid boy.

They’ve lost.

There is no way in all the seven hells that Cersei will agree now.

His sister stands, wearing a murderous expression.

“Then there is nothing left to discuss,” she spits before leaving her pavilion. All he can hear is the sound of crunching metal as the Queensguard accompany Cersei out of the Dragonpit.

Jon Snow looks crestfallen.

He shakes his head.

Stupid boy.

The look of abject disappointment is written on the faces of all who remain.

Jon collapses onto the chair that Qyburn had previously occupied and puts his head in his hands. Daenerys marches up to him.

“I am grateful for your allegiance, but this was our one chance. You were the one to persuade me that this would work. Viserion _died_ so we could be here.” Jon Snow nods his head in resignation.

“I am pleased we have the North on our side,” Tyrion adds. “But have you considered lying once in a while?”

“I will not swear an oath I can’t uphold. Those are not the values my father instilled in me.” He chuckles.

“Ned Stark lost his head because he was too fucking honourable.”

“And what would you know about honour, _Kingslayer?_ ” He shares a knowing look with Daenerys. She knows the truth.

“I know that honour can get you killed just as easily as deceit and treachery can. Honour has lost us precious forces in this fight. There is now less than a zero percent chance of the Lannister army marching North. _That’s_ what honour and morality gets you.”

“The Kingslayer,” Jon mutters. “Lecturing me on morality.” He rolls his eyes.

“You want to question my morality _now_? We are fucked, Jon Snow. You were the one to say that names and titles don’t matter. They do when they could be the difference between winning and losing.”

“Is there any possible way to rectify this situation?” Davos asks. He sighs. He wishes there was. But once Cersei makes a decision, there is no going back.

“I’ll talk to her,” Tyrion says. “Alone.”

Is he mad?

“You’ll die the moment she sets eyes on you,” Daenerys says, pleading with him to stay. His stomach lurches. He squeezes his eyes shut. He wouldn’t do this were there another choice.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

“Not if I go with him,” he proclaims.

“Jaime, no,” Tyrion protests.

“The Queen is right. You go in there and the Mountain will disembowel you. You and I go together? We may stand a chance of breathing for a little while longer.” He looks at Daenerys whose eyes flit between him and his brother.

“Very well. I don’t know what other choice we have.”

He turns on his heel, walking side by side with Tyrion.

They head into the mouth of the lion.


	7. The Dwarf, The Cripple and the Mother of Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The proud Lannister children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry its taken longer to get this one out. This chapter was an absolute bitch to write. Becca x

The gates to the Red Keep loom in front of them. As they draw closer, a squad of Lannister soldiers come out to meet them, fronted by Ser Addam. He swallows. Judging by his sister’s reaction to him in the pit, he wouldn’t be all that surprised if she ordered him executed on the spot. Having his childhood friend deliver the fatal blow would only add to the insult.

“Ser Jaime,” Addam says. “Queen Cersei is expecting you. Alone,” he adds, glancing at Tyrion.

“I’m afraid that if Tyrion doesn’t accompany me, then Cersei won’t be afforded either of her brothers’ time.” He sees the apprehension in Addam’s features.

“Jaime, please. You know that the queen will punish the men if you do not do as she asks.”

“I will ensure they are protected, Addam.”

“How? She doesn’t take too kindly to traitors. She’s not going to listen to a word you say. Please come alone.” He understands his friend’s anxiety. Cersei is not a kind person. She will not hesitate to take her anger out on them. He does not want to hurt more of his men than he already has.

“Fine then, a compromise. We both come, but Tyrion stays outside the throne room. I’ll speak to Cersei alone then bring him in. Deal?”

“Jaime…” Tyrion protests. If Cersei has him alone, what’s to stop her from ordering his execution? But he knows that he has a better chance of staying alive than his brother does. And Tyrion knows this too.

“Trust me brother.”

“You know I do.”

“Deal,” Addam says hoarsely. “Ser Jaime, I will need you to hand over your sword.” He bites back a laugh. Cersei thinks he’s come to kill her? Is she truly that paranoid now?

“Fine.” He unbuckles his sword belt and passes it into Addam’s outstretched hand. “I trust you to look after it.”

“I will. Follow me.” Addam leads the way and the remaining Lannister guards form a circle around him and Tyrion. He isn’t shocked that Cersei thought he might come to speak with her. He thinks she likely wants him to kneel before her and grovel. He would have done, at one point in time. But now he knows what she is. And he will not bend to her wishes and whims anymore.

He knows the route Addam sets. They are going to the throne room. He hears Tyrion snort beside him and knows his brother has also figured out their destination. Trust Cersei to make a spectacle.

Two Gold Cloaks push the heavy doors open as they approach. Tyrion and Addam hang back. He braces himself and follows the remaining men down the hall.

As expected, his sister sits on the throne, crown set delicately on her head. Qyburn to her right and the Mountain to her left. He stops about three feet away from the dais that the throne is situated upon. He clasps his golden hand with the fingers of his flesh and stands as resolutely as he can. She greets him with an icy glare.

“Leave us,” she commands the men who accompanied him. The guards all make their way out of the room. Qyburn and Clegane do not.

She leans back into the throne, a smirk playing on her lips.

“What a performance that was out there, Jaime. Now that we’re alone, may I ask you to put your little moment of insanity behind you and come to stand here beside me where you should be. We will have you restored to your proper position with armour more suited to your status.” He forgets he wears the suit of a simple Lannister soldier.

Part of him likes it. He _is_ a soldier. The only difference between him and the rest of his men being that he was born into the family of a great house and he had been trained from birth to take command. He much prefers taking orders to leading, though he knows the men find him to be a generous and capable commander. He did not leave them on the Goldroad despite the fact that Bronn implored him to and told them there would be no punishment for bending the knee to a new queen.

He looks up at the Mountain, remembering the times he stood in that exact spot. Tommen’s coronation. Every time that Euron Greyjoy bowed and simpered before Cersei in front of the throne.

He can’t do it again.

“It was no performance, Cersei. I have bent the knee to Daenerys.” He sees a glimmer of rage before the rage becomes impassive.

“I understand. It’s part of your plan.” He frowns, confused.

“Plan?”

“To infiltrate her forces and take her down from the inside. That’s the only reason you could be doing this. Right, Jaime? You said she took you prisoner on the Goldroad.”

“She did.”

“Then she’s clearly holding something over you. Tyrion’s life, maybe. That’s the kind of tyrant that she is.”

“She’s no tyrant. And she isn’t holding anything over me. Tyrion is perfectly safe, not that you would care.”

“Then why, Jaime? Why would you abandon me?”

“Because Daenerys is what’s right for Westeros. She’s merciful, which is why she’s let me come here. In return for the Lannister armies fighting in the North and your surrender, she will let you live once she takes the throne. You’d have a choice of Essos or Casterly Rock. You can go _home_ , Cersei.” He holds his breath, hoping that she hears him out.

“No.” He expected this of her. The Lannister pride courses through her veins. But he is also angry with her. She will not get a better deal than the one he gives her now. 

“Why? Over a throne? Has power become the only thing that matters to you?”

“Power has always mattered to me, Jaime. Father trained us to take power. And to keep it.”

“What about your family?”

“What family? My two treasonous brothers? Who are both fighting to depose me? My children are dead because of you and the Imp. Myrcella was in _your_ care and _you_ let her die.”

“And Tommen?”

“Do _not_ mention his name. He brought death upon himself. He made the choice.”

“Because you killed Margaery. Mace. Kevan.”

“They were rotten. They were destroying everything that was good about him. He more or less sentenced me himself. He knew trial by combat was the only way I was winning. He took that from me.”

“He thought he was doing the right thing. Protecting his wife to be.”

“Why are we still discussing him? He’s gone. There’s nothing we can do about that now. We live. This has to be about us and the present.”

“Then let’s speak of the present. Of the future. Cersei, if you don’t give up the throne, you will die. By burning, by beheading, by trial. You _will_ die.”

“This is my kingdom. I’m not just going to let some foreign whore come in and take it from me.”

“Then there is nothing more I can say. Once the threat in the North is dealt with, Daenerys will come for King’s Landing with her dragons and her Dothraki and her Unsullied. They will show no mercy. They will not let you leave the Keep with your head and I will not be here to defend you. Now, I’m going to take what remains of the Lannister army and ride North with them to fight against the dead.”

“You will not.”

“They are my men.”

“I am their queen. They will do as I command and that means they will stay here and defend my capital.”

“You’re deluded,” he grunts. “What is it that you don’t understand about the threat beyond the Wall?”

“It’s as you said brother. The Targaryen girl has Dothraki and Unsullied and two fully grown dragons. My armies will make no difference.”

“Yes they will. Every person who fights for the living is one more for the army of the dead to contend with. Every sword gives us a greater chance of beating them back.”

“Then good luck to them. They will not be having my men swell their ranks.”

“Cersei, please. You saw that creature in the pit. It ran right at you. Blue eyes and screaming. If you don’t understand after seeing that, I doubt you ever will. But maybe I’m not the right person to convince you.”

“Then who is?”

“Tyrion. He’s here.” She hisses.

“I have nothing to say to that vile little cretin. He’s the one responsible for bringing the Targaryen to Westerosi shores.”

“He’s still your brother.”

“Fine. Bring him in.” He feels a touch of relief, but not enough to satisfy him. He crosses the hall, the clanking of his armour bouncing off the walls and echoing around the room.

He hates this room. More than anywhere else in all the Seven Kingdoms. It has housed more horrors than he cares to remember. The powerlessness he felt when the king he swore to protect burned Rickard Stark alive and strangled his son slowly who was only trying to save him. Laughing as the boy choked on the cord that was wrapped around his throat.

The sight of the wildfire. The smell that would not leave his clothes no matter how many times he washed them. The dejected, traumatised faces of his Kingsguard brothers as they stood behind the king and could do nothing as he burned people by the score.

Then, when the deed was done and the body of the Mad King lay by his feet, the look of absolute disgust on Ned Stark’s face as he found him sitting on the throne, his white cloak stained with blood.

Then, when Robert settled in, his fear turned to repulsion. Cersei was his wife, and he did not care for her. A ghost mattered more to him than a living woman. He held tournaments and feasts and drank from the moment he woke to the moment he fell asleep. It was a wonder to him that Robert didn’t meet his end years before he did.

A boar got him in the end. No doubt fuelled by the wine Lancel plied. He undoubtedly became overconfident, regaling one of his old war tales that he liked to tell. Tried spearing the beast, missed, and got impaled for his troubles.

He shoulders the door open and steps out into the entrance. Tyrion and Addam look at him, both wearing questioning glances.

“Well?” Tyrion asks.

“Fucking useless,” he mutters. “Your turn.”

“She wants to see me?” His brother is genuinely surprised he will be allowed admittance to the throne room.

“She does.”

“And you promise the Mountain isn’t right behind these doors, sword drawn, ready to swipe my head clean off?” Tyrion asks with a sarcastic tone, but he can detect a hint of sincerity. The Mountain would scare any man. With, perhaps, the exception of his brother. He knows the Hound is longing to be the one to put an end to Gregor’s second chance at life. He hopes Sandor gets the opportunity for vengeance.

“I cannot promise brother, but I highly doubt he is. Cersei would want your death to be long and drawn out.”

“You’re right. Very well then.” He stands back and allows Tyrion to walk in front of him. he keeps his eyes fixed to the curly mop of hair on his brother’s head as he retraces his steps down the length of the throne room. He stands to the right side of the youngest Lannister when they are both in front of their sister.

“Well, isn’t this nice?” Cersei says. “Two traitors walking through my doors. I should kill you both right now.”

“I am sure Jaime has already tried to explain to you the very serious threat we’re facing in the North. And, unless you are blind sister, you know the army of the dead is real for you have seen one with your very own eyes.” He is not rewarded with a response. He can see the seething anger in the tautness of Cersei’s lips and the dark glint in her eyes. He can feel the growing frustration boiling in his brother as Tyrion raises his voice. “You do realise those things don’t stop at the Neck? They are not a Northern threat. If left unchallenged, they are going to take over Westeros and eventually, the world. This is why the battle for the throne doesn’t matter now. Because in the grand scheme of things, it is not important. The eradication of the Walkers is the thing that should be the sole focus of attention. Daenerys understands this. Why can’t you?”

“I will not answer to the man who tore this family apart. Do you have any idea of the chaos you created when you murdered our father?”

“Yes, and I am sorry. Truly. But he was going to execute me. _You_ ensured he would execute me.”

“Because you murdered my son.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“No, he didn’t.” Both he and Tyrion speak at the same time. “It was Olenna Tyrell. She confessed it to me when I took Highgarden.”

“After drinking a goblet of poison laced wine.”

“It was her.”

“Very well. But you killed father. You were the one to send Myrcella to Dorne. You left her with the Martells. A family known for hating Lannisters. If you hadn’t fired that crossbow into father’s chest then the Faith Militant would never have been allowed to come to power. I wouldn’t have needed to take the actions I did, and Tommen might still be alive.” Cersei and Tyrion have been at each other’s throats for as long as he can remember.

“Fine,” his brother says angrily. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am the catalyst of all evils and everything to go wrong in the world is my fault. So, if that’s true then put an end to me! Get rid of me here. Now.” His eyes go wide and his head whips round to meet his brother’s.

“Are you mad?” Tyrion ignores him.

“Do it! Now!” He watches with bated breath as his sister looks at her monster and nods. The Mountain takes a step, and he knows what he must do. He plants his feet in front of Tyrion, blocking him from Cersei’s view.

“Move, Jaime,” she snarls.

“No. if you want to kill Tyrion, you’ll kill me first.” He sees her glance between him and Tyrion. She may want rid of him too.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

But then she growls, leaning back into the throne.

“You can’t do it, can you?” He says. “Even after all this. We’re still family. And you still love me.”

“You’re a traitor and a deserter. I could never love that.”

“Fine. But we must go. Fight for what’s important.” He glances at Tyrion and they turn their backs on their sister. “You kill us whilst we’re walking out, just remember that Daenerys has two dragons right on your doorstep. I’ll see you soon, sister.” They walk the hall and out the doors. The Gold Cloaks shove them shut behind them. Addam is still standing there. He passes him his sword which he clumsily ties around his waist. He puts his hand on his friend's shoulder. 

“She will not send her forces North, but remember there is always a place for you, should you feel the need.”

“What you speak is treason, Jaime.”

“Treason it may be. But what it also is is right. I hope to see you in the North, friend.”

He and his brother leave the Red Keep with their sights sent to Winterfell.


End file.
